bO 




1 1 H f 1 1 



ii 

1 1 



V 4 *>J 



m 



£ 






■s 



<o 



MEMORIAL 



&*<&■ <**~* /£**-* t^^^t 



tmaxxul 



MRS. AGNES RENTON. 



Jfor t|f ^rtfeat* Mm of Ijcr Jfamtlg. 

"Let all that you approved of in my character live in 
you in a seven jold degree." ^ 

From her Posthumous Letter, p. 143. 






205449 
'15 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Dedication ..... v 

Preface ..... vii 

Memorial ..... i 

Sketch of Mrs. Renton's Life — Her Parentage 
— Youth — Maniage — Husband — Household 
— Domestic Rule — Benevolent Outgoings — Ev- 
angelical Zeal — First Death in Family — A 
Sorer Bereavement — Rachel's Death-bed — 
Maternal Devotedness — Philanthropic Labours 
— Extended Occupations — Domestic Changes 
— Fresh Bereavements — Marriage Jubilee — 
Grandchildren's Gift — Husband's Death — Pa- 
ralytic Attack — Considerable Recovery — 
Last Communion — A Sad Change — Labours 
by Proxy— Illustrative Anecdotes — Respect of 
her Granddaughters— Closing Scenes — Beauty 
after Death — Unusual Respect to her Memory. 

Her Special Friends . . .46 

Mrs. Sinclair — Mrs. Stenhouse — Mrs. Macnab. 

Her Leading Characteristics . . 52 

Independence — Public Spirit — Benevolence — 
Activity — Religion. 

f 



iv Contents. 



PAGE 



Her Other Characteristics . . 92 

Humility — Love of Children — Motherliness — 
Defects — Bright Example — its Obligations. 

Sketch of Her Character by Rev. Dr. 

Davidson . . . . .101 

Extracts from her Letters to her Family i i i 

Her Posthumous Letters to her Children 139 

Her Account of the Life and Death of 

her Daughter Rachel . . . 147 

Appendix ..... 169 

Sketch of her Husband by Rev. Dr. Brown — 
Testimony to him by Broughton Place Kirk- 
Session. 



TO 

WILLIAM RENTON, 

THE 

MOST RETICENT AND RETIRING, 

BUT 

MOST DILIGENT AND DISINTERESTED, 

AND IN FILIAL DUTY 

MOST FAITHFUL AND EXEMPLARY, 

OF HER SONS, 

THIS MEMORIAL OF 
OUE MOTHEE 

IS INSCRIBED 

AFFECTIONATELY AND GRATEFULLY 

BY 

HIS ELDER BROTHER. 



PREFACE. 



Of all the fellow-creatures with whom we are 
connected in the course of life, our parents have 
the first claim upon our affectionate interest. 
Through them God gave us being ; and when 
they have been spared to us, and have kindly 
and faithfully fulfilled their duties, we are, under 
God, indebted to them for our provision, protec- 
tion, education, and all the social and religious 
advantages of our early life. The relation in 
which they stood to us, and its manifold influ- 
ences, have had, in most cases, an unconscious, 
perhaps, but mighty power in the formation of 
our sentiments, tastes, habits, and character, and, 
it may be, also in the determination of our pur- 
suits and of our position in the world. They 
have the greater claims upon our gratitude and 
remembrance when they have been marked by 



viii Preface. 

high qualities of any kind, and especially by 
those of a moral and spiritual nature — the vir- 
tues and the graces — which, as oft as we revert 
to them, appear ever, like the stars in the fir- 
mament, undiminished in brightness and beauty, 
and which, when the glare and the excitement 
of worldly fashion and favour and pleasure, that 
at any time dazzle and captivate us, have passed 
away, contrast to our sober reflection as, ah ! 
how different and superior in their nature — how 
elevating and purifying in their influence — how 
pleasant, satisfying, and holy in their retrospect, 
and how worthy of our study and imitation ! It 
is finely said by the Rev. Robert Hall, " that the 
friendship of sanctified spirits loses nothing by 
death but its alloy ; failings disappear, and the 
virtues of those whose faces we shall behold no 
more appear greater and more sacred when be- 
held through the shades of the sepulchre." 

These considerations would justify some record 
of my mother's life and character, for preserva- 
tion among her children and for transmission to 
their descendants. But I feel that other reasons 
require this at my hand. She left two letters 



Preface. ix 

addressed to her children, under written direc- 
tions that they were not to be opened until after 
her death, which, from their solemn and weighty 
nature, and as designed for the spiritual and per- 
manent benefit of her family, it seems to me pro- 
per to put into a printed form, for their easier 
and oftener perusal, and for their surer and 
better preservation. She also left an account of 
her daughter Rachel, drawn up shortly after 
the death of that remarkable and saintly child, 
which she did not design to print or transmit in 
the form in which she prepared it, but gave to 
me shortly after I became a minister, with the 
following note appended : — " The above are the 
simple facts without any variation. They might 
have been greatly extended, and many others 
told. But as they were originally written to be 
sent to Mr. Brown, Haddington, 1 I endeavoured 
to compress them. But they were never sent, 
and I think you the fittest to write them out cor- 
rectly for the other members of the family, who 



1 Mr. Samuel Brown, her brother-in-law, founder of Itine- 
rating Libraries. 



Prefc 



ace. 



are now able to appreciate their value." 1 By 
"writing out correctly" the facts she had put 
down, my mother meant putting them into shape 
as a memoir ; which, as more used to composi- 
tion than she, as a personal witness of nearly all 
the particulars she relates, and as having more 
perfect knowledge of the whole case than any 
other, after herself and my father, she judged me 
V the fittest" to undertake. But not having done 
so when the comparative freshness and fulness 
of my own recollections, and the accession of 
various particulars which my father's memory 
fondly cherished, and the opportunity of sub- 
mitting all to her revision and to his, would 
have given to the production some worth and 
interest, I am persuaded that to attempt it now 
would justly be regarded as a vain labour, be- 
cause a needless and unworthy substitute for 
my mother's own artless, graphic, and impressive 
version. Yet by so much as the omission to 



i Rachel was the fourth child. At her decease there were 
but two younger living — the one an infant, to whom, as to 
all who were born afterwards, five in number, she was per- 
sonalis* unknown. 



Preface. xi 

execute her design, when that would have given 
satisfaction to her, and perhaps might have edi- 
fied and comforted some of the members of the 
family who are gone, is matter to me of poignant 
regret, it only seems to render it the more in- 
cumbent that I should place the original materials 
in their possession, for whose benefit they were 
intended. 

Nor is it by her surviving sons and daughters 
alone that these documents will be perused and 
preserved with peculiar and sacred interest, but 
by her grandchildren, some of whom intimately 
knew and greatly revered her, and cherish her 
memory with sentiments akin to those of their 
parents. And if by them such memorials de- 
serve to be treasured, they are worthy of trans- 
mission to their posterity, as an heirloom rarer 
and more precious than any of a material nature. 
But, if it be proper to preserve and transmit 
them to descendants who did not know her, it 
seems only dutiful to her memory and to them 
to accompany the transmission with some notice 
of her life and character. " A good name is 
better than riches/' and a character and example 



xii Preface. 

marked by many of the highest moral attributes 
I account a more precious ancestral distinction, 
and of more purifying and elevating influence, 
than any connected with literary or scientific or 
political fame, in promoting one's temporal well- 
being and preparation for an eternal destiny. 

In the subsequent pages it is but an outline, 
for the most part meagre, that is offered of her 
history, with a sketch of some of her leading 
characteristics. To this is subjoined a few ex- 
tracts from letters to members of her family, 
and the sketch of her character by the Rev. 
Dr. Davidson in his sermon after her funeral. 
To those who best knew her, the inadequacy and 
imperfections of the memorial I have attempted 
will be most apparent. To strangers it might, 
on the contrary, appear in some parts an exag- 
gerated representation. But for them, or for 
any beyond her domestic circle, it is not designed. 
It is not a publication ; it is printed exclusively 
for the benefit of the members of her family and 
their descendants ; and its main purpose is to 
present those attributes of her character which 
are entitled to their remembrance, admiration, 



Preface. xiii 

and imitation. But whatever error or defect 
may attach to the estimate or description of her 
by others, her own letters and her account of 
Rachel are true specimens, though only speci- 
mens, of her head, and heart, and character ; 
and they constitute the jewels of which this little 
volume is but the casket. 

H. R. 

United Presbyterian Manse, 
Kelso, April 1866. 



JH c mortal* 



THE subject of this notice was born in Edin- 
burgh, February 16, 1781. Her father was 
Henry Duncan, merchant there, son of Peter 
Duncan, cloth manufacturer, and of his wife 
Christina Fernie. The elder of two surviving 
sons and a daughter, he carried on the cloth 
manufacture for several years, after his father's 
death •, and I have been told was the last suc- 
cessful competitor for the premium given for 
broad cloth by the Board of Trustees for the 
Encouragement of Manufactures in Scotland. 
The great improvement in the West of England 
Cloths distanced all Scottish competition in the 
finer qualities ; and abandoning this pursuit he 
confined his attention to a retail business, in a 
shop opposite St. Giles' Cathedral. He mar- 
ried, December 2, 1774, Rachel, second daugh- 
ter of Robert Anderson, farmer of Cramilt, 
Peebles-shire, and of his wife Janet Grieve, a 



2 Her Parentage. 

daughter or descendant, I have heard, of Rachel 
Grieve of " Ramsay-cleugh," mentioned a.d. 1731 
in the Memoirs of the Rev. Thomas Boston of 
Ettrick. She was noted for a fine face and ele- 
gant figure, but still more for talent, energy, and 
benevolence. It was customary in those days, 
among all grades of the mercantile community, 
for the wife to assist her husband in business ; 
and in the present case she did so, and proved to 
him a valuable coadjutor. They resided in a 
house which he possessed, near the foot of 
Warriston's Close, and which was sold by his 
heirs only a few years ago, to make room for 
the extended premises of Messrs. W. & R. 
Chambers, whose north-eastern extremity is 
erected on its site. Standing back from the 
lofty and gloomy tenements which stretched 
downwards from the street, its light rooms and 
splendid view contrasted with the narrow and 
dingy close from which it entered. Then, fields 
overspread the area now covered by the New 
Town, no Mound divided the intervening valley, 
no North Bridge spanned its eastern extremity, 
no edifice was erected on the Calton Hill. In 
that home, airy and cheerful, within a hundred 
yards of their shop, the wedded pair began and 
spent their married life, and became the parents 



Her Parentage. 3 

of ten children, and enjoyed . a large 'share of 
health, happiness, and prosperity. In religious 
principles Mr. Duncan was a Seceder, and a 
member of Bristo Street Congregation, then un- 
der the ministry of the Rev. John Patison. Mrs. 
Duncan was somewhat speculative in her views, 
associated much with the Quakers, whose prac- 
tical benevolence she admired, and whose oppo- 
sition to State imposts for religion she agreed 
with ; and when Dr. James Macknight, after- 
wards celebrated for his Commentary on the 
Apostolical Epistles, became one of the ministers 
of the Old Church, his lectures attracted her by 
their learning, ability, and plainness, although 
they had neither the strain nor unction of Boston 
or of Patison. In politics she and her husband 
were of one mind, and belonged to the party 
known as the €C Friends of the People." Nor 
were they less agreed on questions of morals 
and manners, being both greatly opposed to 
theatres, balls, and late parties; though so favour- 
able to social intercourse, that one evening weekly 
was set apart for general company, when all 
friends of the family knew there was an open 
door and welcome. While averse to show, they 
disliked parsimony ; and when one of the daugh- 
ters, to save the expense of a new bonnet, 



4 Her Parentage, 

showed 1 a disposition to wear on the old, though 
getting rather out of fashion, her mother threat- 
ened to " toss it out of the window." All the 
children were carefully reared in the principles of 
the Associate (or Burgher) Seceders ; and among 
the memorable characteristics of that household 
were, conspicuous all the year round, diligence 
and punctuality in the observance of family wor- 
ship morning and evening, in the religious instruc- 
tion of children, apprentices, and servants, and 
in the sanctification of the Lord's day. Mrs. 
Duncan died December 16, 1800, predeceased 
by one son and one daughter. In my youth 
spontaneous and repeated mention of her was 
made to me by excellent and sagacious ladies 
and gentlemen who had known her, always in 
terms of admiration of her superior mind, intelli- 
gence, and character. After being some eighteen 
years a widower, and seeing all the members of 
his family settled in life and surrounded by 
families of their own, Mr. Duncan married a 
second time, a lady named Elizabeth Morris, 
who still survives. He had many years previ- 
ously retired from business, and removed from 
Warriston's Close to Comely Gardens, a pro- 
perty he possessed in the suburbs, where he re* 
sided till his death, July 21, 1830, at the age of 



Her Parentage. 



& K 



82, enjoying till near his end a great measure of 
health, and devoting a good deal of his time to 
some of the charitable institutions of the city, 
and particularly to the Destitute Sick Society. 
Among his children, of whom a son and seven 
daughters survived him, there had been no breach 
for upwards of thirty years before his decease, 
and there was none for upwards of twenty years 
after it — a long period for so numerous a family 
advanced in life to remain unbroken. 

Of this family Agnes was the fifth child and 
fourth daughter. By the testimony of her sis- 
ters and of others she most resembled her mother 
in person, mind, and character. With a bodily 
constitution remarkable for perfect organization, 
health, agility, and elasticity— with a mind ingenu- 
ous, quick, observant, vigorous, retentive, and 
ratiocinative — with a cheerful and well-ordered 
home — with a pious, upright, and benevolent 
example — well instructed in the principles and 
trained to the observances of the Gospel — nur- 
tured also in the principles of political liberty, 
when suffering for them was rife — and privi- 
leged with an able and instructive minister, the 
Rev. James (afterwards Dr.) Peddie : — she pos- 
sessed the elements, and enjoyed many advan- 
tages for the formation of a superior character. 



6 Her Youth. 

In the period of adolescence, from childhood 
to maturity, the routine of home residence and 
of education was varied by occasional visits to 
Cramilt and to the family of the Rev. Mr. Hislop, 
seceding minister at the Kirk of Shotts, and by 
sojourn during a great part of each summer with 
other members of the family, at Stockbridge, 
where her paternal uncle possessed a property, 
which her father afterwards inherited, and dis- 
posed of to Heriot's Hospital, extending from the 
vicinity of the Bridge to what now forms Heriot 
Row. 

From her fourteenth to her sixteenth year 
there appear to have been some interesting and 
marked developments in her spiritual history. 
It was at the fomer age that the truth which she 
had been taught from her childhood became to 
her more than a sacred doctrine to be received 
and revered, and that she was first sensible of 
light and gladness in depending for all her salva- 
tion simply upon what Christ had done and 
suffered for her as a divine substitute. It was 
in her sixteenth year, after serious and lively 
impressions of the truth, that she was received 
into the fellowship of the church. In connection 
with that step she mentioned that she went along 
with her sister Catherine, who was older than 



Her Youth. 7 

she, and her superior, not more in age than in 
mind, intelligence, piety, and experience, to be ex- 
amined by the Rev. Mr. Peddie, but who, on 
coming before him, was so agitated and confused 
as to seem doubtful and ignorant on points 
perfectly familiar to her - ? whereas she herself, 
though so inferior, feeling no perturbation, 
answered all his questions without difficulty or 
hesitation. And she instanced the case as a reason 
for caution and tenderness toward those who on 
examination are evidently labouring under fear, 
as the best qualified mentally and spiritually may 
thereby appear to great disadvantage. That sister 
not long after was removed by death, and being 
not only next elder to her, but her most intimate 
and beloved companion, who most influenced her, 
whom she looked up to as a guide and model, 
and who evinced a high degree of faith and 
resignation throughout the lingering illness which 
preceded her decease, December 15, 1797, the 
event made a deep and solemn impression, and, 
more than any other outward dispensation in her 
youth, appears to have been sanctified to her 
spiritual good. She realized vividly the vanity of 
the world and of all personal attractions, of which 
she thought her departed sis.ter an embodiment, 
and formed that paramount estimate of things 



8 Her Marriage. 

spiritual and eternal, which might be discerned 
in all her after-life, and which held the material 
and temporal as ever of inferior moment. These 
impressions were revived and deepened by the 
decease, three years later, of her mother, whom 
of all human beings she held in the highest esti- 
mation. Before that event she had begun, pro- 
bably from natural benevolence of disposition, 
stimulated by her mother's example, and fostered 
by the principles which the Gospel produced in her 
heart, those habits of ministering to the relief of 
the poor and the afflicted, for which in after-life 
she was conspicuous. A valued and venerated 
friend, Robert Waterston of Boston, North 
America, who emigrated from Edinburgh about 
that time, mentions in a letter to me since her 
decease, that the last time he saw her before 
going abroad was on accompanying his mother, 
an intimate friend of her mother, to visit a poor 
woman suffering from a sad malady, in whom 
the elder ladies were both much interested, and 
on entering there was she alone with the invalid 
assiduously fulfilling the part of a nurse. 

Next to union with Christ, the event in her 
life of most importance in itself and of most 
influence in its results, was her marriage with 
William Renton, merchant, Edinburgh, which 



Her Marriage. 9 

took place July 7, 1802. When he paid his 
addresses to her he was in the employment of a 
firm of two elderly and unmarried partners, with 
what was then accounted a good salary, the 
principal charge, confidential relations, and a fair 
prospect of advancing income and ulterior suc- 
cession. She had not discouraged his attentions, 
but, when he made proposals of marriage, she 
replied, " I will never marry another man's 
servant, you must be your own master before 
you can be my husband.'' The spirited and 
resolute response led him to re-consider his position 
and plan, and he was not long in deciding to 
embrace the "first opportunity of commencing 
business on his own account. This he did in 
1801 as a draper, at 9 North Bridge, where he 
continued till the tenement was taken down, some 
25 years after, when he removed for a few years 
to a property of his own in St. Andrew's Square, 
afterwards purchased and occupied by the Na- 
tional Bank. Entering, as soon as circumstances 
justified the step, into the conjugal relation, he 
and his wife set out with principles and habits 
which well fitted them for the duties of their 
respective spheres, and promised, with health 
and God's blessing, the success happiness and 
usefulness, of which, through many years, they 
had severally a large share. 



io Her Husband. 

He was diligent in business, a pattern of in- 
tegrity, punctuality, application, and perseverance, 
as regular and constant in attendance as if he had 
been a hired servant, and for many years rarely 
allowing himself relaxation or holiday. But he 
did not forget that he was a citizen, and that, as 
a man and a Christian, he must seek the well- 
being of the community, and the advancement of 
Christianity, as well as the interests of his family; 
and he was not backward to give his subscription 
or his time to the public cause or religious bene- 
volence. Still less did he forget that he was a 
member of the church, and should seek her good. 
In the congregation to which he attached himself 
while a stripling, he continued a steadfast member 
till the close of his life. In the year of his 
marriage elected its Treasurer, he occupied that 
office upwards of forty years, and at the time of 
his death had been nearly forty -eight years an 
Elder, and fifty-three years a Manager ; and he 
fulfilled the duties of these united offices, and 
promoted its interests, with a solicitude, diligence, 
and liberality, which proved him its most active 
and greatest benefactor. Integrity and upright- 
ness, prudence and judgment, conjoined with a 
spirit of enterprise, marked him throughout the 
relations and transactions of life \ and in the family 



Her Husband. 1 1 

circle these were combined with great warmth 
and tenderness of affection. Nor only by his 
children, and his daughters-in-law, would the latter 
have been first named among the qualities which 
distinguished and endeared him. I remember 
Principal Lee, at a large private party, on propos- 
ing his health, describing him as "the very milk 
of human kindness." Of his career and character 
any sketch here is superseded by that furnished 
in the close of the sermon, preached on occasion 
of his death, by the Rev. Dr. John Brown of 
Broughton Place, 1 whose testimony, brief, but 
comprehensive, hearty, and emphatic, I value 
more than my patrimony, and trust will be 
cherished by his posterity, and blessed by God 
to form and foster in them all that was excellent 
and worthy of imitation in him. 2 

1 Reprinted in Appendix. 

2 He was born at Edinburgh, January 7, 1774, and was 
the second of three surviving children— a daughter and 
two sons — -of Peter Renton, damask manufacturer there. 
When he was but a few years old his father died, and he 
went to reside in Berwickshire with his grandfather, 
William Renton, farmer at Parkfoot, Channelkirk, and 
also an elder in that parish, who had in 1745 witnessed 
the battle of Prestonpans, being then resident with his 
father, also William Renton, who occupied, as his ancestors 
had done for generations, the farm of Birsley, near by. 



12 Her New Sphere. 

In the domestic sphere she was no less fitted 
for the duties and responsibilities which devolved 

Under the roof of that worthy grandsire, whose wife's 
name was Jean Swinton, he spent several years of his 
boyhood, enjoying there, and in a paternal aunt's, who 
was married to John Thomson of Boorhouse, in that 
vicinity, much kindness and happiness, which he ever 
referred to with affectionate remembrance. His mother 
was Christian Gordon, daughter of a damask manu- 
facturer in Edinburgh, whose wife's name was Martin, 
from Dundee, and who was one of a family notable for 
longevity — his father having lived upwards of no years — 
himself upwards of ioo years — and his son John, my 
grand-uncle, and his successor in business, upwards of 93 
years, retaining great vigour of faculties till the close— 
a godly man, as upright, decided, and independent, as 
any I ever knew. My grandmother, sister of the last, 
had no corresponding vigour of constitution, but was 
rather a delicate woman, pious, prudent, meek, tidy, and 
very comely, who survived her husband about 40 years, 
was an object of loving care to my father and mother, and 
died in their house, March 4, 1820, aged 76. 

Having traced the genealogy of both parents up to the 
beginning of last century, and having had the testimony of 
the last two generations respecting those who immediately 
preceded them, I am led to the conclusion, that though, 
as a family, we have nothing to be proud of, neither have 
we any thing to be ashamed of, in the lines from which we 
are sprung, but much to be thankful for, in a succession 
of worthy well-doing sires and dames, who were all 
legitimate, honest, industrious, temperate, professedly 



Her Household. 13 

upon her in its important, varied, and increasing 
relations, and no less ready, from inclination as 
well as principle^ to do good as she had oppor- 
tunity beyond it. She became the mother of 
twelve children — eight sons and four daughters 
— of whom all, save one son and one daughter 
who died in childhood, reached maturity and 
settled positions in life. A charge so large and 
onerous claimed and engaged her assiduous oc- 
cupation and constant care. 

She was emphatically the soul and mistress 
of her household. The scene of my first re- 
collections — a self-contained, two-storied house 
at Newington, with a garden attached, in which 
the family resided several years — recalls few 
associations with my father, who was away all 
day, and returned late to dinner, while the chil- 

Christian, and some of them decidedly godly persons, and 
that in the whole pedigree no pair have been so worthy of 
honour, or such blessings to their family, to society, and to 
the church of Christ, as the last, whom may their children, 
and their children's children, to the latest generations, re- 
member and emulate, in all that was godly and virtuous, 
in the example and testimony they have left behind them! 

11 My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers cf the earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The>on of parents pass'd into the skies.'' 



14 Her Domestic Rule. 

dren retired early to bed. But it is identified 
with her as the constant and presiding genius, 
on whom every thing depended, by whom every 
thing was directed, and in whom love and care 
activity and authority centered as parts of her 
being. Every thing was under her vigilant in- 
spection in nursery, parlour, and kitchen. Every 
thing had to be done properly and thoroughly 
pertaining to person, dress, food, and furniture. 
There was no dusty corner nor confused drawer 
in her house — no soiled or untidy article of 
dress on her children — no neglect or disobe- 
dience of any of her orders by child or servant. 
Constant cheerfulness and great kindness were 
combined with constant firmness and great 
energy. Taste and order, cleanliness and com- 
fort, vivacity and harmony, frugality and bounti- 
fulness, reigned in her household. Nor was 
spiritual instruction deferred till reading was ac- 
quired. Thoughts of God, unseen and all-see- 
ing — of sin, and death, and hell — of Jesus, and 
pardon, and holiness, and heaven — of the sacred- 
ness of the Sabbath and of the Bible, were im- 
parted with the earliest training to prayer, and 
graven with the first lines on memory. 

When some of us were come of age for school, 
of which there was then none in that locality, my 



Her Benevolent Outgoings, 15 

father purchased a house in Buccleuch Place, to 
which we removed in the beginning of 18 10, and 
which became emphatically the home of the family, 
as that in which eight children were born, and all 
were educated, and the two died that were taken 
away in childhood, and two were married ; so 
that to the elder as to the younger, it is identi- 
fied with the lively and happy periods of child- 
hood and youth. The same characteristics which 
marked my mother's domestic rule when the 
family was small continued to distinguish it when 
the number was greatest ; and her excellent 
management, which prevented all extravagance 
and waste, contributed to husband the substance 
which my father's industry acquired. 

But although, during the increase and up- 
bringing of her children, she had at all times 
much domestic duty in the efficient superinten- 
dence of a large household, she ever found op- 
portunity for many works of humanity and bene- 
volence and piety beyond the sphere of her family. 
In the circle of her relatives and intimate friends 
she was ever the first to be sent for in seasons of 
distress, and the readiest to go at the call or 
tidings of it, and the foremost to help, and the 
last to grow weary. Beyond that circle there 
were also, ever and anon, among the working 



1 6 Her Evangelical Zeal. 

classes, and among the destitute, cases brought to 
her knowledge, or seeking her aid, to which, with 
no reluctance, or complaint, or talk of sacrifice, 
where her personal presence seemed needed, she 
would go forth in the rain or the night to minis- 
ter alms, or counsel, or alleviation. Many and 
various, even then, when her hands were full at 
home, were the objects of her interest, and 
bounty, and efforts, to relieve from misery or 
rescue from sin. I have, when a boy, gone 
with her, and at her bidding, to places and per- 
sons I shrunk to approach, on these humane and 
benevolent errands. 

Nor was she less interested in the public cause 
of religion. There were then few organizations 
for evangelical objects in comparison of what ex- 
ist in the present day. The Bible Societies — 
" British and Foreign" and " Edinburgh/' and the 
Missionary Societies — " London" and "Scottish/' 
stood almost alone. But the anniversary meetings 
of these and some benevolent societies, the annual 
sermons for them, and occasional meetings and 
sermons, on visits of distinguished missionaries 
or preachers, were to her festivals of enjoyment. 
For the meetings, the Assembly Room was the 
place, the afternoon the time, and the company 
the religious elite of the city. Delightful is the 



First Death in Family. 17 

remembrance of these gatherings — the impos- 
ing throng of refined, intelligent, pious, people — 
the speakers sincere and eloquent, without clap- 
trap, coarseness, or straining at effect — the senti- 
ments and emotions elevating, stimulating, and 
purifying to the soul. 

Reference has already been made to the death 
of two of her children. These bereavements 
were among the memorable, and most impressive, 
and, as I believe, most sanctified events in the 
earlier portion and experience of her married life. 
The first was that of her third son and sixth 
child, William, the most robust and precocious 
of all the boys of the family, who was cut off 
after a short illness, by hooping-cough and 
measles, September 6, 1813, aged one year and 
ten months — a solemn visitation, as their first pa- 
rental bereavement, to her, and not less to my 
father, who then " purchased a possession of a 
burying place," "wherein never man before was 
laid," in what was then a new addition to the 
original and only, but now old, Calton Burying 
Ground. Into that sepulchre, first occupied by 
this young tenant, have been gathered, in the suc- 
ceeding fifty years, nearest kindred of four gene- 
rations — sister, brother, grandmother, father, 
mother, and younger ones, than was he, of 
brother's and sister's children — who 



1 8 A Sorer Bereavement, 

(l All sleep in Death's dark gloom, 
Until th' eternal morning wake 
The slumbers of the tomb." 

The second was that of Rachel — the subject 
of the notice appended to this sketch — her second 
daughter and fourth child, who after a long ill- 
ness, the close of which was marked by intense 
sufferings and illumined by triumphant faith, de- 
parted February 16, 1815, aged only six years 
and nine months. I have reason to think that 
no trial in my father's life affected him so deeply 
as this, and that none was more blessed to him, 
taking place, as it did, when his business was 
greatest and most prosperous, and he perhaps 
most liable to be unduly engrossed with tempo- 
ral things. How it affected my mother, her 
iC Account of Rachel " shews, and after-refe- 
rences will attest. Of all the relatives and 
friends she lost, Rachel's was the most treasured 
memory. That child, before becoming the prey 
of disease, was above all the rest, save William 
who predeceased her, remarkable for health, and 
growth, and vigour, and not less for openness, 
vivacity, and fun. None knew her more inti- 
mately in health and in trouble than I. I wit- 
nessed also her closing scenes : — her extreme 
sufferings — her horror at the first realisation that 



Rachel's Death-bed. 19 

she was dying — her intense desires for life — her 
victory in that conflict — her calm resignation — 
her solemn fortitude — her vivid sense of her 
body's dissolution and of her spirit's summons 
into the glorious presence of her God and Sa- 
viour — her firm faith — her bright hope — her 
freedom from all fear of death — her longing to 
depart — her looks and exclamations on seeing 
visions of angels. I have seen many death-beds 
since — some of young, some of adult, some of 
aged, some of eminent Christians. But, of all I 
have ever witnessed, none stands out to my view 
so touching, so solemn, so impressive, so heavenly, 
as hers. I have ever felt it difficult to think of 
her as a mere child, so strong is the impression 
of a maturity of thought, and manner, and cha- 
racter, befitting the wisdom and experience of an 
adult rather than the mind and deportment of a 
little girl. Blessed sister ! of all my familiars in 
this earthly pilgrimage, the one whose life has 
the faintest association with sin, and whose death 
the brightest with glory. 

After her eldest daughter's course of educa- 
tion was completed, who was qualified and 
willing to relieve her of a considerable share of 
domestic management, it seemed to her that, 
without neglect of her family, she might do more 



20 Maternal Devotedness. 

for her generation, and her benevolent activities 
soon found fullest occupation. Not that the 
concerns of her household were neglected, far 
less renounced. Its interests were ever present 
to her mind and heart, and its direction she held, 
without transfer or surrender, to the last day of 
her conscious existence, forty years after. What- 
ever her occupations and engagements in other 
spheres, she was ever ready to quit them all, 
and to devote her undivided attention to any 
member of her family, whom affliction had be- 
fallen, or whose case appeared to her to furnish 
the paramount claim and call of duty. For the 
sake of one, when her interests and energies were 
most engrossed with benevolent operations, she 
was willing to have withdrawn wholly not only 
from them, but from society, and to have con- 
secrated all her time and care and effort, could 
she thereby have rendered the benefit she desired. 
Details, which delicacy restrains me from mention- 
ing, even to members of her own family, and still 
more to those of a second generation, who had 
no knowledge of the circumstances, throw strong 
light upon this feature of her character, and 
warrant me to say that she was a mother, who, 
had occasion required, would have perilled and 
parted with anything personal — property, com- 



Philanthropic Labours. 21 

fort, health, life — everything but truth and duty 
— to save any of her children temporally or 
spiritually. She would sooner have become a 
beggar than that any of them should have 
become a bankrupt, and would sooner have lived 
on bread and water, or toiled as a slave, than 
that any of them should have become a drunkard. 
It was not, therefore, at the expense of the 
domestic affections, or of the moral or spiritual 
interests of her family, that she gave much time 
and labour to seek the good of others. So long 
as her daughters remained at home to take her 
place, and to fulfil her plans and wishes, little 
inconvenience was felt from the expenditure of 
her energies in other spheres. But, when by 
marriage they were all withdrawn, the loss was 
felt and apparent; for her multiplied engagements, 
and the habits they had induced, left her neither 
the leisure nor the disposition to bestow upon 
her household affairs the measure of attention 
she had given to them in earlier years, and many 
details and arrangements, in which her care and 
taste used to be conspicuous, she treated latterly 
as of little moment. For a time, indeed, after 
she had been deprived of their help, she laid down 
the plan of eight hours a-day for sleep and dress, 
eight hours for domestic duties, and eight hours 



22 Extended Occupations. 

for benevolent and public occupations beyond 
her family. But the last was often found to 
encroach largely on the second, and these 
extraneous and public occupations formed in 
truth the great business of the latter half of 
her life. 

During the long period of more than thirty 
years these avocations were so numerous and so 
various, and I believe often so remarkable and so 
useful, that an account of them would doubtless 
have been highly interesting to her descendants. 
Had she left Diaries, that might have been sup- 
plied ; or had she written an Autobiography, it 
would have been unique, and much valued by 
others besides those of her own house. Unfortu- 
nately, these are both wanting. Nor can their 
absence be supplied by the next best substitute — 
an ample and continuous collection of her Letters. 
She wrote a great many in her time, most of them 
of a business kind, in connection with cases and 
causes of benevolence, to all sorts of persons, 
which were as words spoken, answering their 
purpose for the moment, and gone beyond recall. 
But she wrote a great many to members of her 
own family, ordinarily hurriedly, yet each throw- 
ing so much light upon her own state of occupa- 
tion or mind for the time being, and having so 



Domestic Changes. 23 

much character, that a connected series would 
have furnished a graphic picture of her course. 
Her letters to myself were so many, and for a 
long period so frequent, that, like a weekly 
periodical, which, however welcomed and relished, 
is when read thrown aside, they were not 
preserved, unless in a very few cases by de- 
sign, and in some by accident. As it was 
with myself so it has been with other members 
of the family, beyond which I have made no 
inquiries •, so that only a few dozens of letters 
altogether have come into my hands, from which 
a selection of extracts is appended. 

In the absence of materials for any Narrative 
of what may be called her extra-domestic, if not 
public, labours, I shall attempt at the close of this 
sketch some delineation of her Leading Charac- 
teristics, and in illustration of these shall introduce 
such information and incidents as I am possessed 
of, relating to her extended occupations, along 
with, it may be, some particulars pertaining rather 
to her private and strictly personal history. 

In her domestic sphere during that long and 
busy period there were of course many changes, 
including events of great moment and interest 
to a parent, as well as to her children, in 
the successive decisions and settlements which 



24 Fresh Bereavements. 

influenced or determined their positions and 
prospects for life. To go into particulars 
would be to relate in some measure the his- 
tory of the living members of her family, 
which were entirely foreign to the design of 
this Memorial. Suffice it to say that she saw 
her surviving sons and daughters, ten in number, 
spared without any breach for more than twenty- 
six years, and all of them settled in life, her 
three daughters and four of her sons married, 
and seven families of grandchildren, several of 
them numerous, and some of them with branches 
of great-grandchildren, added to her progeny. 
In all that related to them her interest was ever 
lively and ever practical, and seemed to grow in 
alertness and strength with the multiplication of 
its objects. She was ever ready to rejoice heartily 
in their joys, to sorrow tenderly in their griefs, 
and to share bravely their cares and burdens. 

But, although silence is becoming in what per- 
tains to the living, mention must not be omitted 
of the dead. Repeatedly did she experience be- 
reavement's heavy sorrows. In no case since 
the decease of Rachel were these more felt than 
in that of her youngest daughter, Christina 
Gordon, wife of Mr. Duncan M'Laren — most 
fair and beautiful, most artless, affectionate, 



Fresh Bereavements. 25 

and disinterested, in moral and religious principles 
inflexible, and in her long and severe illness most 
patient and resigned — which took place Novem- 
ber 1, 1 841, aged 28. 1 The next was that of 
her eldest son Peter, who was cut off sud- 
denly by heart disease, November 1, 1843, aged 
40. And the last known to her, which pre- 
ceded her own only a few weeks, was that of 
her seventh son, Alexander, October 25, 1863. 
Besides these, and the loss of several infant 
grandchildren, she had for twenty years a 
burden heavier than a bereavement, in oft-recur- 
ring solicitude and heaviness regarding Thomas 
Laidlaw, her sixth son, who had emigrated to 
the United States of America in 1839 ; and 
after some years' residence in the North, where 
his commercial speculations were unsuccessful, 
went South in the spring of 1843 ; and after 
his last call on the British Consul at New 
Orleans, who was a personal friend, was never 
again heard of, notwithstanding earnest inquiries 
and repeated advertisement at intervals of years, 

1 " And oft as fancy paints thy bier, 
And, mournful, eyes thy lowly bed, 
The secret sigh shall rise, the tear 
That shuns observance shall be shed." 

Lines on her Tombstone. 
D 



i6 Her Marriage Jubilee. 

throughout the United States. While, how- 
ever, like others, she found life a chequered 
scene, and was called to sing of mercy and of 
judgment, she had on the whole a very large 
share of domestic blessings ; she enjoyed great 
happiness in them, and in the review of them, 
and of the prosperity of her family, she accounted 
her sorrows and trials few and light in compari- 
son of her joys and mercies, and oft exclaimed, 
" Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all 
His benefits/' 

Yet, among the bright and memorable events 
in the family history one claims special notice. 
On the completion of the fiftieth year of her 
married life an interesting celebration of it took 
place, at which all the members of her family in 
this country were present, including four sons, 
two daughters, three sons-in-law, two daughters- 
in-law, one who had acted and was esteemed as a 
daughter-in-law, and twenty-three grandchildren, 
along with a few other special friends. It hap- 
pened that at the time one son was Moderator of 
the United Presbyterian Synod, and one son-in-law 
Lord Provost of Edinbugh. About noon on the 
Jubilee Anniversary, Wednesday, July 7, 1852, 
the different branches of the family met in their 
common home, the house of our venerable parents, 



Grandchildren's Gift. 27 

22 Buccleuch Place. On entering, all, old and 
young, received wedding favours and gloves, 
according to old Scotch fashion. The seniors 
were ushered into the drawing-room, where 
father and mother awaited them ; and when they 
were all assembled and had taken their places — 
the aged couple in arm chairs about the middle 
of the room — the youngsters entered in proces- 
sion, two and two, according to age, and, ranged 
in a beautiful group in front of their grandparents, 
presented, by the hands of John Robson, as 
eldest grandson, though not eldest grandchild, 
the gift of the united grandchildren. It con- 
sisted of a magnificent quarto Bible, richly 
bound and clasped. In the interior of the board 
fronting the title-page a silver shield is inserted, 
of ten inches by six, within which is an oval 
tablet, six inches by four and a-half, containing 
an embossed genealogical tree of gold. On the 
base of the trunk are engraved the names of the 
grandparents, with a plaited lock of the hair in- 
cased beneath each. On the successive branches 
are the names of their children, and where mar- 
ried those also of their partners, with a number 
of twigs attached, corresponding to that of the 
grandchildren, and affixed to each a lock of the 
child's hair with a number indicating the name 



28 Presentation, 

on the margin of the shield. Surrounding the 
tablet is a space of about an inch, between the 
gold rim inclosing it and the border of the shield, 
which is occupied at the top and bottom with the 
inscription, 1 and on either side with the names of 
the donors, in the order of their families, to the 
number of thirty-one. In making the presenta- 
tion the speaker delivered a pretty and appro- 
priate address, expressive of the love and rever- 
ence and good wishes of the donors, and of their 
desire to follow the example which had been set 
by their grandparents, and to gladden their hearts 
bywalkingin thefearof the Lord. "Grandpapa" 
replied with not a little emotion, giving vent to 

1 PRESENTED 

TO 

GRANDPAPA AND GRANDMAMMA RENTON, 

ON THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF THEIR MARRIAGE, 
WITH AFFECTIONATE CONGRATULATION, 

BY 

(The names follow on either side of the tablet which is here 
inserted.) 

Edinburgh, 7th July 1852. 

" The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting 
To everlasting upon them that fear him, 
And his righteousness unto children's children." 

Psalm ciii. 17. 



After-Festivities. 29 

his feelings of gratitude, interest, and affection. 
We then engaged in worship. After praise and 
reading some portions of Scripture I gave a brief 
address, chiefly retrospective of the example and 
influence of the parents that day honoured, and 
Dr. Robson concluded the service with prayer. 
An interchange of gifts followed from some of 
the elder members to their parents, and from the 
latter to all. Each of the children received from 
their grandpapa a purse and half-sovereign, and 
their parents souvenirs of rings or brooches -, 
while grandmamma gave to each, old and young, a 
paragraph pocket Bible. Dinner followed with 
toasts and songs, which were excessively enjoyed 
by the youngsters. The festivities were con- 
tinued on the two succeeding days — the party on 
the Thursday evening comprising, with that of 
the preceding day, those relatives who had been 
present at the marriage fifty years before, and 
their descendants — and that on Friday evening a 
number of other friends not less numerous. The 
whole were concluded with worship, the parting 
hymn on Friday evening being the second Para- 
phrase. The days were long, the weather was 
fine, all were in health, all were happy, and the 
venerable pair, whom all had met to honour, 
were not only hale, but fresh, and vigorous, and, 



30 Her Husband's Death. 

in the words of one of the juniors, et all parted 
greatly gratified and delighted with the auspi- 
cious celebration of grandpapa's and grand- 
mamma's Golden Wedding." 

At that time a full-length portrait of her — 
the best, and, indeed, only good one ever taken 
— was painted by Macnee for her son William, 
and conveys a correct idea of her figure and 
looks in her then 72nd year. A companion to 
it, by the same artist, was at the same time 
executed of her husband, then in his 79th year. 
Both portraits bespeak the enjoyment of health, 
and suggest a period of life ten years younger. 

With no perceptible symptom of decay in 
her, and no other than slower motion and dimi- 
nished activity in him, their union continued for 
two years and a-half longer. And, after a dura- 
tion of fifty-two years and eight months, it was 
broken, with little more than an hour's warning, 
by his sudden decease of heart disease, February 
9th, 1855, in his 82nd year, deeply lamented by 
all his family, who, though of mature years, 
realized, from the youngest to the oldest, that 
in the death of a loving, good, and wise father, 
each had lost the strongest and truest earthly stay. 

Sustained and cheered under the trial by 
every motive of Christian resignation, and hope, 



Paralytic Attack, 31 

and comfort, she seemed to feel only a fresh 
stimulus to be instant in doing good during- the 
brief uncertain term of opportunity which might 
remain to her. 

For nearly four years she continued to enjoy 
good health, with some slight interruptions, and 
an occasional sensation of giddiness, which 
excited anxiety. Her philanthropic interests 
and labours were undiminished, only she felt 
increasingly the need of using conveyances for 
even moderate distances. Her mental powers 
were unabated. But a sudden change took 
place on the morning of December 18, 1858. 
On the preceding day, she had been remarkably 
well and active ; in the evening, after supper, 
had remained much longer than ordinarily with 
her son ; and was in unusual spirits when she 
left him, between 11 and 12 o'clock. Next 
morning, a domestic, who slept in the room 
adjoining hers, on getting up early, heard moans, 
and entering found her on the floor prostrate, 
speechless, and cold. It was a severe attack of 
paralysis on the right side. Several days elapsed 
before her speech became articulate. Gradually, 
however, it was restored ; and, when sufficiently 
recovered to converse, she gave me a circum- 
stantial account of the whole circumstances, and 



32 Considerable Recovery. 

of her sensations — evincing the most perfect con- 
sciousness and acute observation throughout the 
time she had been speechless. Her recovery 
slowly progressed. In May 1859, she was re- 
moved for a week or two to Newington House, 
and derived sensible benefit from the visit. A 
few weeks after she proceeded to Kelso, and 
spent upwards of a month there with still further 
improvement. After a short stay at home, she 
went to Trinity for another month, and experi- 
enced additional advantage. So that in the 
autumn she seemed wonderfully rallied, and 
again received visitors, and enjoyed occasional 
evening parties. Not the slightest trace of 
paralysis was left in her speech, or look, or 
manner. It was otherwise with her gait, 
for she was never afterwards able to walk 
without assistance, nor beyond a few steps at a 
time. And although she recovered the use of 
her right hand sufficiently to sign her name, it 
was only at rare times that she attempted, or 
was able, to write a letter. And with writing 
she gave up reading, always employing another. 
As all her senses and faculties continued acute, 
active, and vigorous, the task of reading to her, 
and writing for her, was one of no small labour. 
Her disablement for personal labours increased 



Last Communion. 33 

her correspondence, and she dictated her letters 
with as great promptitude as clearness and de- 
cision, As far as practicable, she carried on 
her old operations by proxy, and her interest 
continued unabated in all the objects and schemes 
which had formerly engaged it. Nor did she 
lose ground throughout the winter and spring, 
although she did not venture out of doors. On 
the Friday before the Communion in April, she 
surprised her household by giving some orders 
about her dress ; and still more, on the Saturday, 
by sending a message to the cab-hirer, that, as 
a matter of necessity, she must have a convey- 
ance next afternoon, to attend the Communion 
service. Remonstrance against the hazard of 
such an exertion was vain ; her mind was made 
up ; and when the hour arrived she set out, 
attended by a granddaughter and servant, and 
for the last time enjoyed that ordinance, under 
the ministrations of her pastor, Dr Davidson, and 
her son-in-law, Dr Robson. No one was more 
confounded than her medical attendant, Dr John 
Brown, who heard with incredulity of what 
she had done, and made an early visit on the 
Monday morning, but no injury had resulted. 
Her improvement continued \ and at the Synod 
meeting in May i860, the house was crammed 



34 A Sad Change. 

with visitors, by her own invitation, and she had 
large parties daily, whose presence she enjoyed, 
although she rarely took her place at table. 
And in all that related to the Tricentenary of 
the Reformation no one took a livelier interest. 

A great change, however, took place in June. 
She became liable to violent palpitations and 
severe paroxysms, which not only subjected her 
to great sufferings, but excited frequent appre- 
hensions of her approaching death. These con- 
tinued in a greater or less degree, with occasional 
intervals of alleviation, through the remaining 
three years and a-half of her life — a long period 
of, often, great tribulation. Under this trial, 
especially after the second year, her nervous 
system was greatly affected. She who before 
was so strong of nerve, as to be capable of bear- 
ing almost any recital, and of encountering almost 
any spectacle, could not now listen to any tidings 
of violence, or suffering, or death. She forbade 
the mention of war, or crimes, or accidents, 
or of the decease, or dangerous illness, of 
any of her friends, however dear or intimate. 
And if, by incaution, an announcement or refe- 
rence was made, which surprised her with intel- 
ligence of this sort, the effect was instant and 
distressing : she gave a look of agony — her face 



Craving for Air. 35 

flashed — she gasped — the perspiration burst out 
upon her, and, though medical remedies were 
instantly applied, the shock was not recovered 
for perhaps hours. This change was strikingly 
exemplified by her opposite habits at the two 
periods of the Italian and the American wars. 
At the former, every morning before breakfast, 
on the arrival of the newspaper, her first direc- 
tion was to read the latest telegrams regarding 
Garibaldi. That done, and breakfast over, the 
next thing was to hear all the details in other 
columns about the Italian cause. At the period 
of the American war, on the other hand, the 
subject was one of horror to her, not to be 
named, and she remained ignorant of all the de- 
tails. Yet she had no disinclination to hear or 
talk of death — apart from that of her friends, 
and still less to think and converse about her 
own. 

From the time she became subject to palpita- 
tions, she felt as though she never could get 
enough of air ; and the dining-room was con- 
verted into her bed-room ; yet, notwithstanding 
its size, she had often both door and one 
or more windows open. This removal down 
stairs also facilitated her getting out in an invalid 
chair, if but for a few minutes, as often as her 



36 Outward Aids. 

inclination and the state of the weather per- 
mitted ; and she much enjoyed, and seemed 
always to derive advantage from exercise in the 
open air, to which she had been habituated all 
her life. 

But her sufferings were often great and con- 
tinuous — for weeks and months, sometimes, re- 
quiring a couple of attendants by day and by 
night ; and it was only astonishing that she 
rallied as she did, and had so many intervals of 
alleviation and improvement. It was still more 
remarkable that her mental powers continued in 
undimmed clearness and undiminished vigour. 
That signal mercy, in conjunction with a heart 
at peace with God, and an elastic constitution, 
that had never been disordered by intemperance, 
nor relaxed by indolence, enabled her to sustain 
shocks and endure sufferings, under which others 
would quickly have sunk •, although these very 
elements of strength — mental, moral, and physi- 
cal — probably subjected her, under the assaults 
of disease, to fiercer conflicts than others could 
have borne, or, therefore, experienced. What 
outward aids her case admitted of she no doubt 
had, in the best medical skill rendered with all 
the sympathy of friendship, in the unremitting 
attentions of faithful and devoted domestics, in 



Labours by Proxy. 37 

the willing services of loving friends, in the affec- 
tionate ministrations of her daughters and of 
granddaughters, and in the ceaseless considerate- 
ness, care, and kindness of her son who lived 
with her. 

As her strength declined, and her affliction 
became more distressing, she saw fewer callers, 
and even intimate friends were seldom admitted 
to her room. In the intervals of relief, her 
hours were passed in hearing something read, or 
making inquiries, or getting information, or giving 
directions, about some of the objects in which she 
was interested, or occasionally, but with diminish- 
ing frequency, dictating letters. It may best 
illustrate the way in which a portion of her time 
was occupied, and in which some of her opera- 
tions were carried on throughout the term of her 
personal disablement and even prostration, as 
well as the relations in which her domestics 
stood to her, to relate a few of the simple but 
graphic anecdotes of one who had been long 
under her roof and much employed on errands 
of mercy : — 

" An old lady, whom Mrs. Renton much be- 
friended, said to me on calling one stormy day — 
* I have been thinking of you in this weather, 
and wondering how you can go about/ ' Oh, 



38 Prayers for Her. 

mem, I may say as Jacob, when he served fourteen 
years for Rachel, that they seemed to him but 
a few days for the love he had to her, and I 
have that love for Mrs. Renton that it makes 
service light to me.' 

" Mrs. Renton said to me one day, about 
two years before her death, when sending me 
out on some of her errands — c It is a strange thing 
that the Lord continues me here, who am now 
a useless member.' I thought upon her words as 
I went along to the different houses I was to 
call at; and at every one of them the poor people 
were so full of blessings upon her, and so grate- 
ful and earnest for her life, that 1 thought, It is 
just in answer to the prayers of the poor people 
Mrs„ Renton is preserved. And on returning/ 
I said — ' Weel, mem, I can tell you what way 
the Lord is keeping you here.' ' What way is 
it ? ' ' I think just in answer to the prayers of 
the poor people and your friends — you have so 
many that are praying for you.' Mrs. Robson 
entered the room, and her mother said — ' Do 
you hear what Doig says ? ' Mrs. Robson re- 
plied — ' It looks very like it.' 

C| I never knew any one like her for levelling 
the mountains and smoothing the rough places. 
No difficulties frightened her, and when others 



Her Name 'a Spell! 39 

would have been baffled she found some other 
way, which none but herself would have tried 
or thought of. And she had such an influence 
wi' people. 

" Once she sent me to the matron of the 
Poorhouse. The porter there directed me to her 
door. I rang the matron's bell. After waiting 
a while, I rang again. She appeared all dressed, 
and seeing it was only a plain body like me that was 
at the door, said — c Was it you that rang in that 
style ?' I said, ' Yes, mem/ She was in a 
great passion at my presumption, and at her 
being hurried to come to the door. When she 
got out her breath, I said — c Mrs. Renton sent 
me with a message. Whenever she heard Mrs. 
Renton's name she changed, and was all respect 
to me, memming me at every sentence. Another 
time I was sent by her to the House of &efuge 
with a girl who had been there several times 
before. On seeing the governor, and mention- 
ing the young woman's name, he stormed, and 
said she could not be admitted — it was of no 
use — she had been often there, and was no better, 
and so on. I said — ' All he said I had no doubt 
was true ; I had nothing to do with the girl, 
aid couldna defend her ; but Mrs. Renton had 
sent me wi' her.' The moment he heard wha 



4-0 Postktcmotts Influence. 

had sent her, he came off his high horse, and 
was so polite and kind, and said, ' Oh ! surely,' 
and directed her where to go. On coming back 
I told Mrs. Renton, and said — ' I think, mem, if 
I were to go to the bank and use your name they 
would give me money, for it is just like a spell 
upon folks/ She smiled, and said — ' You had 
better not try it, or you'll get so many months' 
lock-up.' 

" Sometime after she was gone, I minded 
about a poor boy she was interested in, and I 

went to Mr M to see what could be done 

to get him into the Orphan Hospital. He was 
very kind, and gave me a paper, and told me I 
must get as many influential signatures as I could. 
I went about, and got a good many, and on 

passing Professor R 's door I thought I wad 

ask his too. He refused, saying he never put 
his name to a case he did not personally know. 
I said — ' The boy is without father or mother 
or friend on earth ; I'm no connection of his, 
but Mrs. Renton on her death-bed said — ' I 
wish to get that boy into the Orphan Hospital/ ' 
And with that he turned about in a moment and 
put his name to the paper, and at the next meet- 
ing of the managers the boy was admitted." 

Through the members of her family who 



Sufferings and Decay. 41 

happened to be beside her, and through others, 
as well as her domestics, her interest was kept 
up in the objects which had been wont to en- 
gage it, and her usefulness to society continued 
to the close of her existence — " doing good, as 
she had opportunity, unto all, especially unto 
them that are of the household of faith." 

Amid the fluctuations but progressive declension 
of her condition she had in her domestic relations 
frequent occasions of satisfaction and joy. On the 
last year of her life a pretty and singular instance 
may be noticed, evincing the love and respect of 
her granddaughters. Three of them were that 
year married — one at Newington House, Edin- 
burgh, in January — another at Kelso, in July — 
and a third at Queen's Crescent, Glasgow, in 
November ; and each, at the conclusion of the 
ceremony, on quitting the parental roof, pro- 
ceeded directly to her grandmamma's, to present 
herself and her husband in their new relation, 
and to receive her congratulation and blessing, 
before setting out on the marriage tour. 

But, as her days advanced, she experienced 
that " if by reason of strength they be four-score 
years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow ;" 
and under the decay of the earthly tabernacle 
" she groaned, being burdened." Her last 

E 



42 Closing Scenes. 

weeks were marked by severe suffering and ex- 
treme weakness, under which the bodily powers 
gradually sunk ; while the senses and mental 
faculties continued unimpaired, and, when ex- 
empted from pain and restlessness, she was quiet 
and happy. 

In the course of October she had sensibly 
declined, and at the close of it, after her son 
Alexander's death, there was a marked change 
in her aspect and spirit. She seemed feeble, 
and broken, and shrunk. Her vivacity was 
gone, never to return. She was less disposed 
to speak. -The evil days succeeded, without 
intermission, of oppression and suffering from 
disease and decay, in which the patient says, " I 
have no pleasure in them." Swelling appeared 
in her extremities, her back suffered from con- 
stant confinement to bed, her breathing be- 
came laborious. Repeatedly it seemed that her 
dissolution was drawing nigh, and all the mem- 
bers of her family within a few hours' reach 
were summoned to her bedside. On asking 
her, a fortnight before her death, how she felt, 
she replied, tc In the agonies of death. " On 
another occasion to a similar question, and with a 
look more expressive than her words, she rejoined, 
" In great distress — pray for me." I did so, 



Beauty after Death. 43 

under an apprehension that her spirit was dis- 
quieted and fainting, but, on concluding, she 
said, u It is not my soul that gives me any con- 
cern, I have committed it to Christ. It is my 
body — my suffering, dying body — that is all my 
burden." The last time I saw her in life, 
Monday, December 14, she never attempted to 
speak, and when I took her hand in mine, it lay 
passive. On the forenoon of the succeeding 
Wednesday, her intercourse with the outward 
world ceased. She then last closed her eyes, and 
thenceforth, without any sign of recognition, or 
any nutriment, (for she had given strict charge 
that if she became incapable of tasting food, there 
was to be no attempt to force stimulants into her 
mouth.) or any motion, she lay peacefully till 
the morning of Friday the 18th, when her 
breathing became fainter, and at 3.40, in the 
presence of her two daughters, her son, and her 
attendants, " she closed her mouth firmly, and 
was at rest, with a lovely smile upon her coun- 
tenance." That supernatural beauty, not in- 
frequent after death, so irradiated her — every 
feature so sharp and instinct with intelligence, 
and all so benignant, so intellectual, so spiritual, 
and yet so solemn, — that the dawn of the resur- 
rection seemed begun, and the transition not only 



44 Unusually Respected. 

certain, but natural, and easy, to incorruption, 
immortality, and glory. Her age was 82 years 
and 10 months. Her remains were accompanied 
to the grave on Wednesday the 23 d, by eighteen 
members of her own family, including those of 
the second generation, her brother, and a select 
company of friends. cc After she had served 
her own generation by the will of God, she fell 
on sleep, and was laid unto her fathers, and saw 
corruption." 

On the Lord's Day after her funeral, unusual 
respect to the memory of a private, and still 
more of a female, member, on such an occasion, 
was shewn to her's, in the Congregation from 
which she had been removed, by the Elders all 
appearing in full mourning, and, although it was 
the day of Communion, by the Minister's devot- 
ing the close of his discourse to a special notice 
and improvement of her decease. Few in her 
station have been so much, and by t*o many, 
loved and esteemed in life, and have left a 
memory so respected and honoured. It has 
been said, that no man is a hero before his valet. 
And certainly nothing more effectually tests 
respect and admiration for an individual than 
intimate knowledge and close observation of his 
sentiments, dispositions, habits, and behaviour, 



Unusually Respected. 45 

when withdrawn from the notice and influence 
of society, when left free to act out his true 
character, and when still further subjected to 
prolonged confinement and suffering. To all 
these tests she was subjected. It was her lot to 
need for years the constant assistance of two 
attendants, and it was her privilege to have 
always in those so employed — the extra as well as 
the stated — persons actuated both by Christian 
principle and by grateful devotedness to herself. 
Their duties were often trying. They witnessed 
all that was weak and humiliating in her con- 
dition. They were wholly subject to her autho- 
rity. But, of all who knew her, I doubt if any 
survivors cherish her memory with deeper 
veneration, admiration, and affection, than these 
pious and faithful servants. The memory of the 
just is blessed. 



46 Her Special Friends. 



HER SPECIAL FRIENDS. 

She had a large circle of friends among various 
classes, and a very large circle of acquaintances, 
male and female, comprising not a few eminent 
in the religious world and in philanthropic 
labours ; and the estimation in which she was 
held by those of them who survive, many scores 
of notes and letters, received since her death by 
my brother and by other members of her family, 
attest. But while there were many excellent 
and estimable persons with whom, in her long 
and active course, she was brought into close con- 
tact, and united in sincere and warm friendship, 
there were a few who occupied pre-eminently 
the relation of very intimate and confidential 
friends, and in the retrospect of the last fifty 
years Three stand out to my view above all others 
as successively occupying that relation. 

The first was Mrs. Jane Sinclair, whose 
maiden name was Young, and whose husband 



Mrs. Sinclair. 47 

was a merchant in Edinburgh, and an early and 

intimate friend of mv father. Between her and 
j 

my mother, from the time of our family's removal 
to Buccleuch Place in 18 10 till her death, Jan. 
27, 18 19. at the age of 35, the closest friendship 
subsisted. Her graceful figure, and sincere, gentle, 
kind manner are associated, in my remembrance, 
with the disinterested, benevolent, modest, thought- 
ful, godly character which distinguished her, nor 
can I recall any bereavement out of our family 
which my mother so much lamented. Her 
elder daughter, in a note to my brother since my 
mother's death, says, " Mrs. Renton was very 
dear to us from early reminiscences, being the 
most intimate and beloved friend of our mother. 
Her kindness and attention to us when children, 
after our mother's death, we can never forget, 
and in maturer years, when able to appreciate 
her fine intellect, quickness of perception, and 
kindness of heart, we regarded her with the 
greatest affection and respect. Her labours 
of love as a Christian gentlewoman are well 
known. Of her it may truly be said, ' when 
the ear heard her, then it blessed her ; when the 
eye saw her, it gave witness to her ; and the 
blessing of him that was ready to perish came 
upon her.' " 



48 Her Special Friends. 

After Mrs. Sinclair's decease the friend with 
whom she became most intimate, whom she most 
visited, and with whom she had the largest and 
longest correspondence, was Mrs. Elizabeth 
Stenhouse of Glasgow, who after a few years' 
marriage had been left a widow with an only 
son, but had been an attached friend many 
years before while yet Miss E. Currie. To a very 
prepossessing appearance and engaging manner this 
lady united superior intelligence, judgment, and 
taste, with such genuine piety, sterling principle, 
disinterested and active benevolence, lively sym- 
pathy, cheerful equanimity, and warmth and 
constancy of affection, as won the admiration and 
regard of all who knew her, and unspeakably 
endeared her to intimate friends. Of no one am 
I better entitled to bear loving and grateful wit- 
ness. For a number of years she was, even 
more than my mother's, my own most intimate 
friend, and that relation'only strengthened their's. 
Her house, till I had one of my own, was, next 
to my father's, more than ever any other, my 
home. There I spent a great portion of some 
of the most critical years of my life ; there after 
a season of disquiet and peril I had soothing and 
guidance and revival, which no one less loving 
and wise, or less loved or confided in, could 



Mrs. Stenhouse. 49 

have imparted ; and to her, after my parents, to 
whom I could not so freely open all my heart, 
I owe more than to any other human being. 
She and my mother had many elements of 
character in common — ready sympathy with 
distress, promptitude of effort for its alleviation, 
unwearied benevolence, pure disinterestedness, 
firm fidelity, and entire unity of Christian faith 
and hope. Warm was their love and admiration 
of each other, and their friendship, till interrupted 
by death, continued, without flaw or decay, a 
source of much mutual happiness and of much 
benefit to others. Trials and troubles that could 
not have been anticipated befel the latter years of 
this beloved friend, and proved how sterling were 
the graces and virtues that had shone with lustre 
in her days of health and prosperity. She died 
in the Lord at Nice, (February 19, i860, aged 
75,) where she had resided from October 1858, 
solaced in her closing days, as through her 
widowed life, by the society of her son, whose 
infirm health had rendered him her constant 
companion and chief care, as it had also through 
long years drawn closer their mutual sympathy 
and fellowship, although it had deprived society 
of the benefit which his force of character, his 
scientific attainments, and his religious decision 



50 Her Special Friends. 

would have imparted wherever their influence 
extended. 

The third and last of these chief friends is 
Mrs. Catherine Macnab of Glasgow, whose 
maiden name was Knox. Of this lady, who 
happily survives, I may not speak so freely as of 
those departed, and shall only say, that, inferior 
to neither of them in talent, intelligence, piety, 
or disinterested zeal for the good of others, she 
has been a long, valued, and successful labourer 
in an unobtrusive yet wide and interesting sphere — 
partly by her pen, both in private correspondence 
and published biography — but principally as the 
introducer into this country, first at Greenock 
in 1830, and afterwards at Glasgow, of the 
" Mothers' Meetings," now so extensively formed, 
and as the mainspring in the latter city of prob- 
ably the largest and most influential of these to 
be found in the United Kingdom, — and in that 
department of Christian usefulness, and in other 
less conspicuous though not less assiduous 
labours, has proved one of the most honoured 
spiritual benefactresses of her generation. Un- 
like each of the earlier friends, who were near 
my mother's age, and had known her from the 
beginning of her married life, she was very much 
younger, and did not meet with her till nearly 



Mrs. Macnab. 5 1 

three-score of her years had run. But before 
meeting they were mutually acquainted with each 
other's character and labours, and mutually held 
each other in high esteem* Their first interview, 
rapidly succeeded by others, led to a warm and 
close friendship, which through my mother's 
after-years continued a source of much enjoyment 
in health, and during her long period of affliction 
was as a precious elixir, which oft revived and 
refreshed her more than any other human influ- 
ence. Many and prolonged were the visits to 
aid and please her undertaken by this friend, 
sometimes with much self-denial and risk, while 
herself a sufferer from severe neuralgic affections. 
Such is Christian friendship, dearest and strongest 
in affliction and in the valley of the shadow of 
death. It is the privilege of children to be the 
parent's heirs, and in this case the friendship 
which she could no longer enjoy has been trans- 
ferred to members of her family, by whom it is 
cherished with the highest gratitude and apprecia- 
tion, and with the fervent desire that they may 
long enjoy its beneficial influence. 



52 Her Leading Characteristics. 



HER LEADING CHARACTERISTICS. 

It were impossible to write any sketch, how- 
ever brief and imperfect, of my mother's life, 
without at least incidentally bringing into view 
her leading characteristics. But they were such 
as claim a more full and formal notice. Few 
women possessed such independence as she, or 
such public spirit, or such benevolence, or such 
energy, or such faith. Each of these she had in 
an eminent degree, and each was augmented by 
combination with the others. Her benevolence 
was the most prominent ; but without her 
independence, or her activity, or her faith, it 
would not have been what it was — so energetic, 
so wide in its range, so ceaseless. And so it 
may be said of each of the others. They were 
severally stimulated, invigorated, elevated, and 
purified by the influence of the rest, which, 
though distinct, were not antagonistic, but con- 
genial qualities, ever ready to act in concert and 



Her Independence. 53 

mutual support. Of each of these, in the order 
in which they have been already named, some 
delineation and illustration will now be offered. 



Her Independence. 

She had been accustomed from her childhood 
to think for herself. This habit, encouraged by her 
domestic education, and especially by the coun- 
sel and example of her mother, she carried 
into all things, domestic and public, political and 
religious. Sometimes she might lack sufficient 
data for the conclusion at which she arrived, and 
thereby be misled or mistaken. But on matters 
where she knew her information to be correct 
and ample, her decisions were usually as sound 
as they were firm and irrevocable. She rapidly 
formed her opinion, fearlessly avowed it, and 
unhesitatingly acted upon it. She cared little 
for conventionalities, and nothing at all for names 
or numbers, in opposition to what she believed 
to be true or right. She looked at things on 
their own merits and claims, and would have 
been as ready to support a good project brought 
forward by a. beggar, as if it had been propounded 
by a prince, or rather more ready in the former 
case than in the latter, for she would have said, 



54 Her Leading Characteristics. 

" The beggar's position demands for him all the 
countenance I can give him ; the prince's will 
secure for him plenty of parasites and flatterers 
to sound his praise, and win attention for his 
project, even were it less worthy than it is." 
Two striking illustrations of her independence 
and firmness recur to me. 

When a little boy I was taken by her one 
day to Musselburgh, on a visit to her esteemed 
friends the Rev. Alexander and Mrs. Black. On 
returning in the evening in the stage coach, there 
was lifted into it, at Portobello, without leave 
given or asked of the other passengers, a woman 
wrapped in a blanket, and, from the portion of 
her face visible, evidently covered with some 
eruption. It was a case of small pox; and in 
ignorance and recklessness of the wrong and 
peril, as well as the offence, to others, the con- 
venient opportunity was seized of conveying the 
patient, as far as the coach went, to the Edinburgh 
Infirmary. My mother kept open the window 
nearest her, and put me close to it. The journey 
was then by the Canongate and Nether Bow to 
the coach office opposite the Tron Church. 
From that destination I was marched home- 
wards ; but on reaching George's Square, to 
my surprise and disappointment, being fatigued 



Her Independence. 55 

and sleepy, I was trotted round it, and into one 
of the Meadow walks, before being taken into 
the house, and then, to my greater surprise 
and annoyance, stripped and bathed from head to 
foot before being put to bed. No evil conse- 
quence happened to me. But, some days after, 
my eldest sister, who stood next to me in the 
family, became unwell, and by-and-by an eruption 
appeared, which my mother pronounced small 
pox. The family doctor was called in, who was 
puzzled, and could say nothing decisively about 
the disease, except that it was not small pox, as 
the child had been successfully vaccinated. He 
brought next day two other doctors, who agreed 
with him that it was not and could not be small 
pox, while my mother insisted that it was, and 
had no doubt the infection had been conveyed 
from the woman in the stage coach. A consul- 
tation of the faculty was agreed upon, and a 
large number of leading practitioners met in the 
house, and confirmed the opinion of the family 
doctor, that the disease was not small pox, 
though somewhat resembling it. On my mother 
intimating her entire dissent from their opinion, 
the senior physician spoke of the impropriety of 
an unprofessional person setting up an opinion 
against the faculty. She replied — c< If the 



56 Her Leading Characteristics. 

faculty told me black was white, am I to dis- 
regard the evidence of my senses ? I have seen 
small pox in its different stages, I have watched 
the disease, I have found this case to be exactly 
like others, except, happily, in a milder form, 
and nothing you have asserted alters my opinion." 
So they departed, amazed and displeased at her 
audacity, and she at their unreasonable obstinacy. 
Dr. James Gregory, then at the head of the 
profession, but in no favour with many of his 
Edinburgh brethren, on account of his indepen- 
dence, and unsparing exposure on some occasions 
of their defects and delinquencies, was then called 
in. On seeing the child, and being asked what 
was the disease, he at once pronounced it to be 
small pox. To the question, " Have you any 
doubt ?" he replied, lt None — it is the small pox 
— a very fine pock — if I had a dozen children to 
innoculate I should take that pock." My 
mother then related the case, from the woman's 
entrance into the stage coach to the decision 
of the medical conclave the day before. He 
listened with keen interest, and then broke out 
into a strong and somewhat profane denunciation 
of the " blockheads who propounded theories 
before they had a sufficient induction of facts, 
and then denied facts in order to maintain their 



Her Independence. 57 

theories." My mother and he parted heartily 
pleased with each other. 

Another illustration is furnished in her change 
of congregational connection. From the date of 
her marriage she had, with her husband, been a 
member of the congregation under the ministry 
of the Rev. Dr Hall, and after him under that 
of the Rev. Dr Brown, both of whom she held 
in the highest respect and regard. This con- 
nection she broke off in consequence of dissatis- 
faction with a particular decision of the kirk- 
session, to the great regret of the elders, of the 
minister, and especially of her husband and her 
family. If she erred in this step, it arose out of 
misapplication of the quality of her character 
under consideration — one of the noblest and one 
of the rarest to be met with — that of thinking 
and judging for herself, and acting out her con- 
viction, independently of all human influence. 
And as what she did was with her a matter of 
conscience, it only remained for those connected 
with her to lament her decision and to respect 
herself. 

The self-reliance, independence, and decision 
displayed in these instances appeared in a thou- 
sand others, and were, no doubt, strengthened 
and often moved by religious principle, so that 

F 



58 Her Leading Characteristics. 

in the performance of duty she was neither 
deterred by the fear of offending, nor prompted 
by the solicitude of pleasing fellow-creatures, 
which so often, in inferior moral natures, impose 
silence, or induce connivance, acquiescence, or 
obsequious concurrence, in opposition to judg- 
ment and conviction. 

To this attribute of her character may be 

largely traced her fidelity. Mrs A , with 

whom she was intimate, and associated in bene- 
volent operations, says — " I never knew any one 
so faithful as Mrs Renton. She used to say to 
me — 'When you see good qualities in people, 
you are ready to take notice of them and to praise 
them ; but when you see faults, you don't tell 
them of them, which you ought to do, and which 
were a greater kindness.' And I often noticed 
that those to whom she was so faithful respected 
her most." 

Her Public Spirit. 

She had a large share of public spirit, and, for 
a female, took a deep interest in politics, being 
ardently attached through life to popular liberty. 
The sentiments of her parents and of her husband 
no doubt favoured and fostered her own dis- 
position and principles. But an interesting 



Her Public Spirit. 59 

circumstance in her early life had probably no 
small influence in giving to her character its 
prominent development in this direction. In 
T 793> w hen Mr. Thomas Muir, advocate, was a 
political prisoner in the Tolbooth, charged with 
sedition and treason, on no other grounds than 
that he had openly espoused those principles 
which the Hon Charles Grey (afterwards Earl 
Grey) advocated in the House of Commons, and 
nearly forty years after embodied in the Reform 
Bill of 1832, her parents, who highly esteemed 
Mr. Muir, and agreed with his opinions, were in 
the habit of providing him daily with a comfort- 
able dinner from their own house, which the 
prison usages did not hinder, and she was wont 
to accompany the servant on those errands, and 
formed a reverential regard for the political martyr 
and for his principles, which extended to ail who 
suffered like him in the same cause — Margarot, 
Palmer, Gerald, and Skirving. She had ever 
great sympathy with all who were tried or pun- 
ished for political opinions, as distinguished from 
overt acts, and great dislike to all punishment of 
them ; agreeing with those who hold, that, if 
political opinions are wrong, there is nothing like 
the freest public discussion to expose their folly 
or danger and bring them into discredit or 



60 Her Leading Characteristics. 

detestation, and that if they are right, truth and 
society suffer from their violent suppression. 
As I well remember, she readily credited the 
spy system under Castlereagh and Sidmouth with 
all the baseness and wickedness which its strongest 
opponents charged against it — she espoused the 
side of Queen Caroline as the victim of flagrant 
injustice, and regarded with indignation the 
motives and the method of her prosecution, 
emanating from one who had the least title to 
take part in such a suit — she rejoiced in the 
repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts — she 
heartily concurred also in Roman Catholic Em- 
ancipation, though she abhorred the whole 
system of Popery, because she believed that no 
man should be subjected to civil disabilities on 
account of his religious opinions, and that punish- 
ment should be inflicted only on those who openly 
break the peace and order of society — she took 
a lively interest in the agitation for Political Re- 
form and felt the highest satisfaction at its 
triumph — she entered with great zest into the 
Voluntary Controversy, reading the publications 
and attending the discussions, and became a fixed 
and zealous adherent to the principle that, for 
the interests alike of truth and of liberty, religion 
should be free of all State support and control. 



Her Public Spirit, 61 

She could not be indifferent to any of the great 
public questions which agitated society, but the 
movements and enterprises in which her own 
exertions were enlisted were those which were 
identified with the advancement of its moral 
interests. 

In 1825 when Greece attracted much attention 
by the struggle for Independence, of which all 
friends of freedom then anticipated a successful 
and early issue, she conceived that one of the 
most effectual means of elevating that nation 
would be the education of the female population, 
which could be begun in the Ionian Islands 
under the British Protectorate. She got a com- 
mittee of influential ladies formed, of which the 
venerable Lady Carnegie was president and her- 
self secretary, and enlisted the cordial support 
from the platform (and perhaps his only dis- 
course for a society from the pulpit,) of the 
Rev. Dr. M'Crie the biographer of Knox, the 
Rev. Dr. Andrew Thomson, the Rev. Henry 
Grey, and others. But after a great deal of 
trouble, and the equipment of two qualified 
agents, a succession of discouragements and diffi- 
culties led to the abandonment of the scheme. 
It is interesting to know that the work was seven 
years later begun at Athens by the American 



62 Her Leading Characteristics. 

Episcopal Society, and continues with a fair 
measure of success as far as it has been ex- 
tended. 

When the Temperance Reformation began, 
which proposed only abstinence from the use of 
spirits, she approved of it, and joined it, as con- 
ducive to the improvement of the working classes. 
But she soon became convinced that to allow 
the use of wines and other liquors must be in- . 
vidious and offensive to those who could not 
afford them, and was indefensible in consistency 
and principle, and she adopted and acted upon 
the principle of Total Abstinence from all intoxi- 
cating liquors, before any society was based 
upon it, as the only proper and adequate ground 
for all who sought by such an organization to 
promote the cure or prevention of intemperance. 
To this cause her attachment never slackened. 
She aided it in all forms — by her example, her 
recommendation, her diffusion of publications, 
her distribution of tickets to lectures and soirees, 
her contributions in other forms, and most of all 
her personal exertions to reclaim the intemperate. 
There was, indeed, no form of sin which she so 
much detested or dreaded, as intemperance, be- 
lieving it to be the inlet and most fruitful source 
of all other evils. To her own abstinence she 



Her Public Spirit. 63 

attributed in great measure the amazing elasticity 
and vigour of constitution which she enjoyed up 
to her 78th year, when suddenly struck down 
by palsy, and which enabled her so long to sur- 
vive that shock with unimpaired mental faculties. 
So strong was her aversion to the use of spirits, 
that, even when prescribed by her medical ad- 
visers as a necessary stimulant, she refused it, 
and for a long time it was only in a medicated 
forrn, which destroyed the taste and smell, that 
they succeeded in administering it. 

The Anti-Slavery cause was one in which 
from her youth her sympathies had been enlisted, 
and when the grand project was formed of the 
Total Abolition of Slavery she engaged in it with 
her whole heart, and was a member of the first 
Ladies' Committee formed in Edinburgh for its 
support, which, like the Temperance movement, 
shared her unslacking zeal and exertions through 
all her after-life. For after the abolition of 
slavery in the British Empire she continued with 
unabated ardour to aid the labours of the Ameri- 
can Abolitionists, several of whom were among 
her friends and correspondents. 

The Anti-Corn Law agitation of course secured 
her warmest support, as one whose success would 
bring with it inestimable benefits to the mass of 



64 Her Leading Characteristics. 

society, and the abatement of a crying injustice. 
When the co-operation of the ladies was sought 
by Bazaars on its behalf, she was second to none 
in promptitude and energy, and, not contented 
with what she did at home, undertook to provide 
and preside at one of the tables of the great 
bazaar in London, and amply redeemed her 
promise. 

It only remains to notice the Peace Society. 
Of this she was a member and zealous supporter. 
A committee of ladies for its support held their 
monthly meetings in her house. She diligently 
circulated its publications, and in 1849 attended 
the Peace Congress at Paris. War, like Slavery, 
she accounted only an unmitigated evil, hostile 
to the law of God, contrary to all the interests 
of man, and repugnant to the spirit of Christ. 
She felt that holiness and peace were the bright 
attributes of the Redeemer's kingdom, and she 
rejoiced in the prospect of that blissful period, 
when, through His extended reign, men " shall 
beat their swords into ploughshares, and their 
spears into pruning hooks ; nation shall not lift 
up their sword against nation, neither shall they 
learn war any more." 

These were the more prominent public causes 
to which her interests and efforts were given, 



Her Benevolence. 65 

and any one who knew her only in connection 
with one of them would have thought it was her 
hobby. But her zeal in one did not in the least 
abate her zeal in another; she seemed to have a 
whole heart for each ; in this, as in other things, 
giving did not impoverish ; the more her public 
spirit was exercised the more its range and sym- 
pathies extended ; and many were the objects 
besides those mentioned, of a less conspicuous 
character, which shared what aid and impulse she 
could impart. 

Her Benevolence. 

In what has been advanced several indications 
must have been apparent of her Benevolence, 
than which no attribute of her character was 
more prominent, and which therefore claims 
special and particular notice. It was, indeed, so 
much a part of herself, that it is difficult to think 
of her in any relation of life without recalling it. 
It might have been originally a strong natural 
disposition, but it was nourished, purified, and 
strengthened by love to Christ, and through con- 
stant exercise it acquired all the power of the 
strongest habit. It pervaded all her plans, all 
her undertakings, and all her activities, prompt- 
ing efforts, undertaking labours, encountering 



66 Her Leading Characteristics. 

difficulties, and braving dangers, before which 
any lesser principle would have quailed. It was 
as disinterested as energetic. Selfish people 
think first of themselves, their own claims, their 
own interests, their own ease, their own con- 
venience, their own comforts. She thought first 
of others and last of herself, and was ready to 
overlook, to disregard, and to sacrifice her own, 
for the sake of benefitting others, and especially 
of relieving want or suffering, or of rescuing 
from sin. As a friend observed, who had 
known her well for fifty years, '* But one pass- 
port was needed to enlist her interest — human 
misery •, it mattered not what the age, or con- 
dition, or character of the patient." She dispensed 
temporal benefit hand-in -hand with spiritual — the 
temporal first, and that whether the spiritual was 
received or not; but where both were needed, 
the spiritual also, in advice, remonstrance, per- 
suasion, reading, and distribution of tracts and 
books ; and where the bodily was not required, 
but only the heart and the conscience needed to 
be dealt with, the spiritual alone. 

Her's was no sentimental, spasmodic, imitative 
benevolence, begotten of fitful impulse, or fashion, 
or persuasion of neighbours, or other artificial 
influence. It was moved by the desire to do 



Her Benevolence. 67 

good to suffering or indigent fellow-creatures, 
who came within her personal knowledge and 
capability of aid, and her thought was, What 
should I do for them ? And whatever she con- 
cluded she ought to do she did forthwith, with- 
out waiting for the co-operation of others, and 
in nineteen cases out of twenty without seeking 
it. Notice of what she did by her fellow-crea- 
tures, or gratitude for it by the recipients of her 
benevolence, never seemed to enter into her 
thoughts. The object before her in every case 
was the present end to be reached of benefit to 
the indigent, or suffering, or wretched, or guilty, 
or perishing creature, on whose behalf her inte- 
rest and energy were enlisted. 

She was brought into contact with human 
misery and vice in all their forms -, but the effect 
was not to repel and discourage her, but only to 
stimulate and strengthen her desires and resolu- 
tions to relieve and rescue as promptly and as 
greatly as she could. Her labours for these 
ends were not occasional, taking up an hour now 
and then, but habitual occupations, to which she 
gave more time and energy than many persons 
devote to the callings by which they earn their 
subsistence, and in which she was as instant as if 
her family's bread had depended on them. 



68 Her Leading Characteristics. 

Often she was disappointed, and often imposed 
upon. The seeming penitent relapsed into old 
sins. The struggling unfortunate, whom she 
had brought out of difficulties, and put in a way 
of well-doing, proved utterly unworthy. But 
such instances did not render her less ready to 
take up new cases, nor did she dwell upon, or 
repine at, the failures, frauds, and base deceptions, 
that she experienced. On the contrary, she 
seldom adverted to them, and held that we 
should endeavour to do good to the worthless, 
although we should fail in the attempt, and they 
should pervert and abuse the benefits rendered 
them. Her common remark, when such cases 
were mentioned, was, "It is a great pity, it can- 
not be helped, but better to have failed in a 
thousand attempts than to have neglected one 
that has been successful." Nor did she say 
much of her success. She was as little prone 
to boast of past fruits as to mope over past fail- 
ures. She only considered what was before 
her, and addressed herself to new enterprises 
and labours of love with as much freshness as 
if they had been her first, and with as much 
solicitude to conduct them to a successful issue 
as if they were to be her last. " Not weary in 
well-doing " was emphatically one of her charac- 
teristics. 



Her Benevolence. 69 

One department of her benevolent labours 
merits particular notice — that devoted to the re- 
formation of female prisoners, first in the Bride- 
well of Edinburgh, and after its incorporation 
with the Prison, in the latter. Instead of attempt- 
ing any account of these I shall only quote the 
testimony of the matron and governor. 

Miss Aitken, who has been Matron of the 
Edinburgh Prison for the last 25 years, says, 
" that long before she entered on her present 
situation Mrs. Renton had been engaged in these 
labours ; that she was in the habit of visiting, 
not once a week, as is the common rule with 
other ladies, but several times, and not in one 
class, or in one department, but in all ; and that 
it would be impossible to tell the number of 
cases in which, through her exertions, discharged 
prisoners had been sent off as emigrants, or got 
situations at home, and the care and moral well- 
being of juvenile delinquents had been promoted. " 

Mr. Smith, the excellent Governor of the 
Prison, writes — ¥ Mrs. Renton visited the prison, 
for the purpose of imparting religious instruction 
to the female prisoners, for upwards of thirty 
years, and the great patience and self-denial im- 
plied in these few words can only be fully 
known and appreciated by those who have been 



jo Her Leading Characteristics. 

earnestly and perseveringly engaged in the same 
kind of arduous duty. It would be difficult to 
overstate the zeal and earnestness with which 
she entered into the work. No kind of weather 
deterred her from making her visits, which, when 
she had pressing cases on hand, were almost 
daily ; and she spared no amount of personal 
labour, not only in visiting the prisoners inside 
the prison, but also their friends outside to effect 
reconciliation between them, and to procure em- 
ployment for the prisoners after their discharge. 
Severe domestic affliction, and even bereavement 
in her own family, was not allowed to stand in 
the way of active duty in her labours of love 
among the poor unfortunates of the prison ; and 
she has been known to leave her own house to 
attend to them under circumstances which an 
ordinary Christian would have considered as a 
more than sufficient excuse for giving up all 
labours beyond the circle of her own family. 
But she was not an ordinary Christian. Deeply 
impressed with the importance of religious truth 
herself, she made an earnest, sustained, and con- 
tinuous effort to impress the minds of others. 
She appeared as if continually saying to herself, 
and acting accordingly, ' My Saviour died for me, 
I must live for Him — I must work while it is 
day — the night cometh.' " 



Her Benevolence. 71 

One of the most striking instances of the 
fruits of her prison labours is given in the follow- 
ing extract from a letter of one of her grand- 
daughters :— 4i While A and I were staying 

with grandmamma in 1848 she took us repeatedly 
to the prison, when visiting Sarah Brannon, who 
was then awaiting her trial. She was a very 
ignorant woman, of Irish extraction, could neither 
read nor write, and, beyond knowing there was 
a God and a hell, was without religion. In a 
drunken quarrel with her husband, she had 
flung a stool at him and killed him. On com- 
ing to her senses, and finding what she had 
done, she was in great grief for her husband, 
but felt none for her sin. When brought to 
prison she was so ignorant and so brutish as to 
seem incapable of understanding right from 
wrong ; and because her case seemed so despe- 
rate grandmamma took her in hand, visiting her 
almost daily for many weeks, talking and pray- 
ing with her, and by the time her trial came on she 
had learned to view her crime in a proper light. 
Passing over grandmamma's conferences with 
her counsel, all that could be done in her be- 
half was done, and she was sentenced to im- 
prisonment for life. As she shewed herself in- 
creasingly grateful for all that was done for her, 



72 Her Leading Characteristics. 

and attentive to all that was spoken to her, 
grandmamma got her detained as long as possible 
in Edinburgh, and ere she was transferred to 
Perth had the joy of seeing her a converted 
woman. From Perth she was removed to 
Brixton in 1851, and grandmamma made a point 
of writing to her every quarter, which is as 
often as prisoners there are permitted to receive 
letters. Having known about her from the first 
I afterwards wrote many of the letters sent her 
by grandmamma, and very tender they were, 
telling her of herself and her family, and of 
mission work and revivals, — the family affairs, 
to shew her she was esteemed as a friend, — and 
the mission and revival work, to stimulate her to 
increased prayer for Christ's kingdom. Sarah 
was allowed all the mitigations admissible in her 
condition, though they were few, and she stood 
high in the estimation of the chaplain and matron 
as a pious Christian woman. Very sad she 
sometimes was, still never murmured, and often 
wrote, that " next to the Saviour, she loved her 
one friend on earth to whose instrumentality she 
owed both her present life and that which is to 
come. ,, Her letters would have done credit to a 
superior person in the lower rank, for their 
good composition, spelling, and penmanship. In 



Her Benevolence. 73 

1851 grandmamma visited her, and received a 
gift of a curious piece of fancy work intended as 
a picture of herself. It was made out of shop 
sweepings sent to the prison, and shewed how 
every detail of grandmamma's dress had been 
stereotyped in the poor woman's memory- The 
figure she had sewed in worsted and silk. The 
face was only a line of silk thread, and, of course, 
bore no resemblance. But the grey silk bonnet 
was unmistakable, as well as the black satin 
cloak, and the brown brocaded dress, and little 
hand-bag — grandmamma's walking dress of 1848, 
in fact, which is quite fresh in my memory. 
Her letters would have been interesting relics of 
one, amongst the many, whom grandmamma 
saved with a ' double salvation.' I had promised 
to grandmamma to keep up the correspondence 
after her death, but the opportunity was not 
given me. for Sarah died only a few weeks after 
her ; and now we can only think of them as 
singing together the praises of redeeming grace 
before the throne." 

Mrs. B., formerly assistant to the matron in the 
prison, and afterwards successively matron of the 
Dean Bank Institution, and of the Magdalen 
Asylum, has supplied me with several cases which 
it is not necessary to relate, adding, " that Mrs. 

G 



74 Her Leading Characteristics. 

Renton took up cases that others would have 
given up as hopeless, and that it is only a little 
of the good she did that one person can tell." 
She also informed me that Mrs. Renton had a 
furnished room provided at Hope Park End for 
the accommodation of any respectable woman 
out of a situation, in which many years ago she 
(Mrs. B.) had herself once lived for two months. 

Mrs A., an intimate friend, bears the following 
testimony: — "Mrs. Renton's benevolence was 
so great that I was often prevented from men- 
tioning cases and causes to her from the fear of 
an undue demand upon her means, for she was 
always so ready to give. If there was real dis- 
tress she would not withhold relief on account 
of the worthlessness of the applicant. She often 
judged people so correctly that their conduct 
just corresponded with her estimate of what it 
would be. On other occasions it was different, 
but disappointments or bad requitals had no 
effect in abating her disposition to help the next 
case which came before her." 

As an illustration of discrimination conjoined 
with courage, or some would say temerity, in 
her endeavours to recover a penitent, and restore 
her to well-doing and usefulness, the following 
case may be given. A young woman called one 



Her Benevolence. 75 

day with a pitiable tale, soliciting compassion and 
assistance in getting a situation as a domestic 
servant. She was closely interrogated and told 
to call back. Mrs. R. inquired about her at her 
last mistress, and got an account the most un- 
favourable of her character. When the young 
woman called back. Mrs. R. told her what she 
had done and what she had learned. The 
woman burst into tears and shewed great dis- 
tress, saying — ; * It was ail over with her, she 
hoped to get into a place where she would have 
a chance to amend, but now she could have no 
hope." Mrs. R. replied " I do not mean to say 
that. I know what you are. and what you have 
been. But I will take you into mv house, and 
give you a chance." This was done. She was 
emploved as housemaid, shewed an earnest 
desire to do her duty, and went on for several 
months satisfactorily. Mrs. R. had to go from 
home and hesitated what to do, as there were 
a variety of articles, comprising silver plate, 
required for common use, which were under 
the girl's ordinary charge. From what she had 
observed of the young woman she concluded 
that to commit them to the care of another 
would shew a v/ant of confidence in her, and 
discourage her, and perhaps tempt her to relax 



j6 Her Leading Characteristics. 

her resolution, and prevent her further progress, 
and she decided to trust her with them just as 
when at home. On returning, she found her 
trust justified and rewarded by the servant's 
fidelity, and by the encouragement and confirma- 
tion thereby given to her course of improvement, 
which had a satisfactory issue. 

Another instance of the decision and success 
of her benevolence may be related. Learning 
that a superior young woman, who had for 
many years been a faithful and active servant in 
the family, in whom she felt great interest, over 
whom she had great influence, and who then 
resided in the neighbourhood of her home in 
Peebleshire, was falling into a habit of intoxi- 
cation, she went out to deal with her. Finding 
that she could not get an opportunity of con- 
versing privately with her, except by remaining 
over the night, and could not have accommoda- 
tion, except by sharing her bed, she resolved to 
do both, and urged upon the young woman, as 
indispensible for her salvation, instant and total 
abstinence, and with it separation from her 
present connections by emigration to America, 
for which she promised assistance in outfit, and 
an introduction that would secure her a good 
situation there. She gave her a fortnight to 



Her Benevolence. 77 

make up her mind, with the alternative that she 
must follow her counsel, or she would have 
nothing more to do with her. The young 
woman's father came to Edinburgh, and pleaded 
with Mrs. R. to make some other arrangement, 
and dispense with the emigration. But she was 
inexorable, knowing that his home was one of 
the chief sources of danger. The young woman 
obeyed her counsel, adopted the abstinence reso- 
lution, emigrated, was steadfast, went forward, 
and for many years has been a minister's wife 
and a respected mother in the United States. 

An old domestic, whose testimony has been 
already quoted, said, u Many a time in climbing 
stairs in the Grassmarket and Canongate, I 
wondered how Mrs. Renton had ever been able 
to get up them, and visit the poor creatures I 
was sent to. When I came in at night she 
would say to me — * Are you very tired?' — or, 
' you say you can aye gang an errand if you 
have something to carry.' And I would say 
' O aye, mem, I can aye do that.' Then would 
she say, ; There are some things I want you to 
take to such an one.' She was never done giving, 
and when she thought that a thing was needed 
at the present she was impatient if it was nor 
done at once. There were a number to whom 



78 Her Leading Characteristics. 

she gave so much weekly. One poor woman 
who had a worthless drunken husband kept a 
small shop, selling sweeties and vegetables to 
provide for her children. Mrs. Renton found 
out that she sold some of her bits of things on 
the Sabbath day, and she gave her a shilling a 
week to give up that, which was more than the 
little profit she had by the things she sold, and 
kept her from breaking the Sabbath. Within 
two weeks of her death Mrs. Renton said to me, 
c You will go and give that woman four shillings, 
she has not been paid these last two weeks.' 
Mrs. Renton had been so ill and so low, and I 
had been so much taken up with her, that I had 
quite forgotten that case, and wondered when 
she minded it. As long as she was able to go 
about, her hand was never out of her pocket, 
and I never saw anybody give away money 
so freely as she did." 

Her life was marked by many voluntary 
sacrifices, not seldom, perhaps, misspent, for the 
undeserving, the deceitful, and the impostor, yet 
in numerous instances rendered for respectable 
persons in indigent circumstances, who did not 
come within the range of ordinary charity, and 
were truly grateful. " Without covetousness," she 
received with contentment and gratitude what- 



Her Benevolence. 79 

ever share of this world's goods Providence put 
into her hand, and thought only of the best and 
the most she could do with such means as she 
had. She gave away much, all she possessed 
of her own, and all that she could spare off her 
own expenses, or off those of her household. 
Many a journey she travelled by a third-class 
train, and many a time she walked to save a 
cab, solely that she might give the difference to 
the poor. Denying herself the additional com- 
fort or rest which another half-crown or five 
shillings would have afforded, she was ready the 
next hour to expend double the sum on some 
fresh appeal to her charity. She was " rich in 
good works, ready to distribute, willing to com- 
municate " — her " charity never failed " — she 
trode in the footsteps of Him, who " went 
about doing good," who "came not to be mini- 
stered unto, but to minister," who had compassion 
on the hungry, the diseased, the helpless, the 
bereaved, the ignorant, and them that are out of 
the way — and she ever u remembered how He 
said, It is more blessed to give than to receive." 



80 Her Leading Characteristics. 

Her Activity. 

It is abundantly apparent that among her pro- 
minent characteristics was Activity. For this she 
was formed by nature, and fitted by her whole 
training and habits. Nor could one observe her 
motions, or look upon her countenance, without 
discerning it. She had a light, well-knit, elegant 
person, of great agility and nerve, and, in con- 
junction with it, a constitution of remarkable 
health and vigour, which she sustained by the 
most regular habits and the strictest temperance. 
She had a finely-formed countenance, and beauti- 
ful skin and complexion, with a brow of strong 
mental development, and her expression was 
that of intelligence, vivacity, and decision. Her 
life was one of great activity. That may be said 
of some women who perform a multiplicity of 
domestic duties, and of some engaged in business, 
who in their several spheres display a method, 
alacrity, energy, and perseverance, not surpassed 
by the most diligent, systematic, and enterprising 
of the other sex in any walk of industry. But 
although the labours of such individuals may be 
very numerous and arduous, they are usually 
very limited in their range and in their motive, 
and restricted in sphere and interest to the family 



Her Activity. Si. 

or to business. Her's, on the contrary, were 
manifold and various. While in her household 
no woman could be more active, and orderly, 
and thorough, in all departments and details, 
than she was for many years ; and in whatever 
related to the welfare of any member of her 
family no mother could be more alert, assiduous, 
and self-denied ; it was in the sphere of benevo- 
lence that she found her most congenial element, 
and delighted to expend her energies — in zeal- 
ously co-operating with others in the public 
causes of temperance, liberty, and religion — and 
still more in unremitting, private, single, and 
unaided efforts for individuals within her per- 
sonal knowledge, whose claims consisted in their 
suffering, destitution, exposure to temptation, or 
wickedness. Of such cases the number which 
successively engaged her earnest concern and 
endeavours during a period of forty years must 
have been very large. 

She kept no record of her own doings. Of 
her pecuniary intromissions she was accustomed 
daily to set down an exact account, so as always 
jto know her current means, and to secure 
punctuality and promptitude in the discharge of 
all her liabilities. But when these accounts had 
erved their purpose for the quarter or the year, 



82 Her Leading Characteristics. 

she had no further need of them, no other per- 
son had any business with them, and she de- 
stroyed them. So it was with her little books 
of memoranda. Of her visits, of her letters, of 
her labours, of the persons on whose behalf they 
were expended, or of the time devoted to them 
day by day, she kept no record. Nor did any 
member of her family at any time know all that 
she did or had in hand. She never related how 
many calls she had made, how many persons 
she had visited, how much time she had spent 
on this or that work of charity, and least of all 
how much money she had expended, for often 
she had exceeded her present means and drawn 
upon the future. Frequently, indeed, particular 
cases were fully detailed that at the time absorbed 
her interest, and there were at all times a variety 
of cases well-known to servants, or members of 
the family, or other friends, who were more or 
less employed in carrying out her benevolent 
operations. But such were ever only a portion 
of those she had on hand. Her own talent, 
ingenuity, promptitude, and energy, while health 
lasted, enabled her in most things to do herself, 
more quickly, more easily, and more satisfac- 
torily, what she wished to be done, than she 
could get it done by others. And therefor 



Her Activity. 83 

it was her habit, as well as her maxim, never to 
do by others, or at second-hand, what she could 
as well or better do herself. This consumed a 
great deal of time, but with her astonishing 
activity, and the diligence, heartiness, and de- 
spatch, with which she discharged her successive 
duties, it is no exaggeration to say. that she often 
overtook as much in a day, as other active and 
benevolent ladies would have accounted ample 
work for a week. She had no leisure for 
superfluous writing or reading, and she trusted 
to an excellent memory, which was one of the 
faculties that she had through life greatly culti- 
vated. That book of remembrance superseded 
with her all diaries and records of pen and ink, 
and from it alone could have been drawn a full 
and faithful account, during the term of her un- 
broken activity, of even a single week's manifold 
occupations. Yet, I am persuaded, that had we 
the full record of them for every week, and 
month, and year, we should only find in pre- 
dominant measure and in constant succession the 
cases of indigent widows, neglected children, 
well-doing wives or husbands with ill-doing 
spouses, struggling or suffering individuals to be 
aided or relieved, fallen women to be rescued, 
discharged felons to be employed, imprisoned 



84 Her Leading Characteristics. 

criminals to be converted. She began her per- 
sonal efforts before there were any public asso- 
ciations for reclaiming drunkards, or recovering 
the fallen, or reforming young criminals, or 
educating ragged children, and she continued 
them until the last, while hailing and rejoicing 
in the various institutions formed for these 
objects. 

To her duty and opportunity were ever so 
obvious and pressing, that she was always full 
of work for the present ; and results were so 
entirely with God, and His promises were so 
sure, that she was always full of hope for the 
future. What to make of herself, or how to 
fill up time, were questions with which she was 
never troubled. She was a stranger to idleness 
and to ennui. Her life daily and hourly was a 
practical illustration of the precept u Whatsoever 
thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." 

Religion. 

The last of the leading traits of her character, 
which claims notice, is Religion. It obtained an 
early hold upon her mind, and exerted a power- 
ful influence upon her character and conduct. 
From the time she distinctly apprehended that 



Her Religion. 85 

salvation is free and complete to the sinner, 
who depends simply and singly on Christ as the 
Divine Surety, who has done and suffered every- 
thing needful for his pardon and acceptance with 
God, she seems to have had a greater or less 
measure of peace, and hope, and gratitude, and 
love, that formed as it were the wellspring of 
her happiness and of her life. She had been 
taught that system of doctrine which is contained 
in the Shorter Catechism of the Westminster 
Assembly, and she found it with enlarging 
experience to' accord with the Scriptures. 

But the Scriptures themselves were her great 
teacher. It was her fixed habit at all seasons, 
and in all circumstances, to read at least two 
chapters for her private lesson in the morning, 
and two at night. For a long period she yearly 
read through in regular course the whole Scrip- 
tures once, and the Psalms and New Testament 
twice. In conjunction with that exercise she also 
used some little book with its daily text or short 
iesson. Nor did she find that company, or 
pressure of affairs, rendered it difficult, either at 
the beginning or close of the day, to perform 
this duty. On lying down she was wont to fix 
her mind upon some passage of Scripture, and 
to meditate on it till she fell asleep, desiring every 



86 Her Leading Characteristics 



'& 



night to have her last thoughts occupied with 
things divine. Her physical powers had during 
the day been in full play, her mind was at peace, 
and through long years she nightly experienced 
the full import of the testimony, " So He giveth 
His beloved sleep." In the exact posture in 
which she fell asleep she was wont to lie, 
breathing softly as an infant, for six or seven 
hours, enjoying unbroken rest, and then to awake 
refreshed, and forthwith arise. 

As in private religious duties, so in those of 
the sanctuary, she was punctual and steadfast. 
No one was readier to attend public sermons, or 
meetings for benevolent objects, without refer- 
ence to sect or party. But at the stated times 
for public worship on the Lord's Day she 
attended faithfully the ministrations of her own 
pastor. The distance of her residence was about 
two miles, and, after she had reached those 
years when for such a distance on a week day 
she habitually used a cab, she would have gone 
forth on the Sabbath morning, even despite wind 
and rain, and trudged it on foot, to save work, 
for which necessity could not be pleaded, though 
at the expense of mercy to herself, and especially 
to avoid tempting any poor cabman to stay from 
church. 



Her Religion. 87 

The congregations with which after marriage 
she was connected were, first, that successively 
under the ministry of the Rev. Dr James Hall 
and the Rev. Dr John Brown, and next, that of 
the Rev. Dr. Peter Davidson, whom she highly 
esteemed for his principles, gifts, and attainments. 
To it after leaving Broughton Place she clung 
through the remainder of her life with steadfast 
attachment, fulfilling the various duties of a 
member : with what fidelity, zeal, and liberality, 
the testimony of the minister appended to this 
sketch attests. However multiplied and pressing 
might be the demands upon her benevolence in 
other forms, they were never allowed to interfere 
with, and far less to abate, her interest in and 
her contributions for gospel ordinances and mis- 
sionary objects. 

That public spirit, disinterestedness, and zeal, 
which she evinced in other causes, no less marked 
her piety. And here I shall avail myself of an 
extract from the address of the Rev. William 
B. Robertson of Irvine, at the missionary meeting 
of the United Presbyterian Synod, May 11, 1864, 
in allusion to the death of her son Alexander : — 
" A missionary of your own, on whom the grave 
closed and Heaven opened some six months since 
— he was my dearest friend and fellow-student 



88 Her Leading Charaeteristics 



'& 



twenty years ago in Germany — a man of gentlest 
manners, princely bearing, rich gifts, and rare 
accomplishments — gave himself, with all his gifts 
and his accomplishments, to the comparatively 
humble task of teaching your poor blacks over in 
Jamaica, and literally forked himself to death in 
faithfulness to God's work there. So when he 
had come home in last green summer time to die, 
and place, as winter darkened over us, an honoured 
missionary's grave in your Grange Cemetery 
; beside the grave of Chalmers,' I said to his 
venerable mother, still sorrowing at his return — 
1 Your son is really a martyr — a martyr to the 
missionary cause.' * Yes/ she replied, with 
truly Spartan Roman Christian heroism in most 
sorrowful and loving mother's heart — c yes, and 
had I a hundred sons I would be proud to see 
them all the same.' The noble spirit of the 
Spartan mother has not died out yet — or spirit of 
those brave old Roman mothers that could* give 
their sons to die in battle for the Commonwealth 
and conquest of the world — or rather, let me say, 
the spirit of the Abraham that l by faith offered 
up his son upon the altar,' and of those holy 
women, also, in the days of old, that did * by 
faith receive their dead raised to life again,' — as 
this most noble mother too has done, following 



'Her Religion. 89 

her martyr son in a few weeks to glory, where 
Christ, beside whose cross they stood together 
steadfastly on earth, has said, ' woman, behold 
thy son/ and 'son, behold thy mother/ " l 

Her religion, like her benevolence, was not 
emotional nor sentimental. Dictated by principle, 

1 Of this son a biographical notice appeared in the 
Missionary Record of the United Presbyterian Church for 
January 1864. And a Monument erected over his grave 
by his brother William bears the'following inscription : — 

TO THE MEMORY OF 

THE REV. ALEXANDER RENTON, 

THEOLOGICAL TUTOR TO THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH 

OF JAMAICA, 

AND PASTOR OF MOUNT OLIVET CONGREGATION 

IN THAT ISLAND, 

WHO DIED AT KELSO, OCTOBER 25, 1S63, 

AGED 43 YEARS, 

AND IS HERE INTERRED. 

Amiable, graceful, and devout, 

An accomplished scholar, 

And a good minister of Jesus Christ, 

He was esteemed and loved by all who knew him, 

Especially by his Missionary brethren 

In Jamaica, 

Who, anticipated by a brother's love 

In their design 

To erect over his hallowed grave 

A Stone of Remembrance, 

Have obtained permission to inscribe on it 

This Memorial. 

H 



90 Her Leading Characteristics. 

animated by love, and guided by understanding, 
it was thoroughly practical. She had no notion 
of fine sentiments and feelings that exerted no 
influence upon the character, or of a profession 
which did not justify itself by practice. She 
iiad no objection to associate with secular per- 
sons for secular ends, or to co-operate for a 
good end with all who would take part in its 
promotion, but she would not for its further- 
ance consent to any compromise of religious 
principle. To no cause had she throughout life 
been more staunch and ardent in her attachment 
than that of the Abolition of Slavery ; but when 
an influential organ of the American Abolitionists 
lent its columns for the diffusion of infidel senti- 
ments, she objected to the Ladies' Society, with 
which she was connected, continuing to it their 
support, while, on account of the great services 
it had rendered to the one cause for which they 
were associated, the majority declined to with- 
draw it. The result was a split, and the 
formation of a second society of which she 
continued President till her death. A better 
view than can be presented by another, of her 
spirit and principles in this transaction, is happily 
supplied by a letter of her own — one of the few 
to members of her family which happen to have 



Her Religion. 91 

been preserved and to have come under my notice. 
Like most of them, written off-hand, it is not 
the less characteristic. 1 

As with societies so it was with periodicals. 
Though the friend of free discussion in all things, 
she considered it inconsistent and sinful in a 
Christian to support a publication which habi- 
tually assails principles he holds sacred, or advo- 
cates those he accounts detrimental to religion or 
morality. On these grounds she discarded the 
Scotsman from her house. 

No gloom, nor groaning, nor fear, nor doubt, 
was associated with her religion. Strong faith 
was ever operative in good works, full of mercy 
and good fruits, without partiality, and without 
hypocrisy. On being told one day by a minis- 
ter of a worthy woman who was sitting dejected, 
crying, " My leanness, my leanness," she replied, 
" It would be more befitting her to say ' My 
laziness, my laziness/' Her long term of health 
had been spent in well-doing, and when years of 
suffering were dispensed to her — ' For what son 
is he, whom the father chasteneth not?' — she 
bore the trial with fortitude, without desponding, 
or repining, or doubting. Her principles were 
all fixed, her views all clear, her conclusions all 
1 See letter, dated Edinburgh, 7th March 1856. 



92 Her other Characteristics. 

settled, and all that she heard, witnessed, or 
experienced, only confirmed or illustrated them. 
In these days of darkness the Scriptures con- 
tinued to her a pillar of fire, the only other 
reading she relished, or latterly listened to, 
consisting of accounts of revivals and missionary 
operations, tracts, and occasionally a volume, one 
of the last she heard through being " Romaine's 
Life of Faith." A favourite sentiment of hers 
was that of the Psalmist — " Hope in God ; for I 
shall yet praise him, who is the health of my 
countenance, and my God." 

In singling out and dwelling on her leading 
characteristics, others, less prominent, have been 
passed over, though among those doubtless are 
several not unworthy of notice, as references in 
the letters of friends since her death suggest. 
One recals " the influence of moral purity which 
her presence ever diffused" — another u her hospi- 
tality to strangers" — another " the comfort, 
strength, and encouragement, which her warm 
sympathy, cheering counsel, and emboldening 
decision imparted in depression and difficulty" — 
another " her true womanliness in all circum- 
stances, even where most resolute and energetic" 
—another '* her little account of money, unless 
for charitable uses, quoting often the quaint 



Her Humility. 93 

saying, i What I gave I have, what I spend I lose, 
what I leave is not mine, but theirs who come 
after me" 7 — another "her humility'' — another 
"her love and kindness to children." On the 
last two a few observations may be added. 

No one rejoiced more in the prosperity and 
honour of any one in whom she was interested, 
or was less disposed to undervalue legitimate 
elevation or greatness of any kind, or, had she 
been placed in a higher social sphere, would have 
been more ready to appreciate its advantages, and 
maintain its dignity, as well as to fulfil its obli- 
gations, and occupy its opportunities of promoting 
the benevolent objects she had at heart. But 
the words addressed to Baruch — " Seekest thou 
great things for thyself? Seek them not"— 
conveyed to her no challenge, and imposed on 
her no restraint. Free of avarice, she was also, 
as regarded worldly possessions and honours, 
devoid of ambition. That saying of the Lord 
had sunk into her heart— " I am among you as he 
that serveth." A worthy lady, who felt every 
new duty, or care, or cross, or difficulty, to be 
something formidable, and continually resorted to 
her for advice and assistance, said one day- — 
" Oh, that this conflict was over, and the crown 
won, and I were sitting in the kingdom!" 



94 Her other Characteristics. 

Ci Sitting with a crown !" was her response — " to 
be an errand girl there would be the height of 
my ambition." 

Her love of children was strong : she was 
full of kindness to them, was a great favourite 
with them, and her compassion and care went 
out specially to the fatherless and the orphan, 
among whom many a young heart was made 
glad by her. She had no sympathy with what is 
called the Malthusian doctrine. In all ranks she 
held legitimate children to be the greatest tem- 
poral gifts which parents or society could receive, 
and was highly displeased when pity or regret 
was expressed on account of an accession to a 
poor man's family, who was struggling to provide 
for those he already had. In such cases, among 
the objects of her interest, she was forward with 
her congratulation, and if there were twins, with 
a double gift, accounting them " an heritage of 
the Lord/' and each accession therefore a source 
of fresh joy, a new incentive to well-doing, and 
another pledge that " the Lord will provide." 

Her expansive sympathies and unwearied bene- 
ficence gave her a high place in the estimation of 
many. But perhaps the sentiments with which 
she was most deeply and most widely regarded 
were those cherished toward a parent, whose kind- 



Her Defects. 95 

ness, exertions, and fidelity inspire affection and 
gratitude, reliance and respect. I remember my 
first teacher saying of her one day, with much 
emotion, (i She is the mother of all living," which 
I did not then understand. But often since I 
have heard the testimony — " She has been a 
mother to me" or " to us." A few years ago 
an honoured and veteran missionary spoke to me 
of her as u your mother and mine." More than 
one minister of Christ it was her happiness to 
have u oft-refreshed,' ' and not a few among the 
widowed and afflicted and poor of His people 
had " great joy and consolation in her love." 

But her excellences were not unaccompanied 
with defects ; on the contrary they were closely 
connected with them. For the chief of the latter 
seemed to me to spring from the predominance 
of the former, and to be in a manner their ex- 
crescences. So strong was the impulse of her 
benevolence, that an over-readiness to obey it led 
her occasionally to overlook, forget, or disregard 
the comfort or feelings of others, who had prior 
or stronger claims to her consideration than the 
individual she sought to benefit. Again, so 
strong was her self-reliance, that she was led 
occasionally to undertake what could not be 
accomplished without an amount of trouble, 



96 Her High Excellences. 

labour, and expenditure, utterly disproportioned to 
the end, and also, it might be, misspent for the un- 
worthy. The strong will would have its way, 
and it was sometimes unreasonable, setting at 
nought all objections, or even declining to con- 
sider them. The consciousness that she was 
actuated by no selfish nor sinister motive seemed 
to brace her inflexibility. She was so accus- 
tomed to deny herself, and to subordinate 
personal ease, convenience, feeling, and inclina- 
tion to duty or beneficence, which were with 
her almost synonymous, that she was apt to 
under-estimate the difficulty of these sacrifices in 
others, whose concurrence or co-operation was 
necessary to the accomplishment of her object. 
Yet these deductions, and all others that could 
be adduced by the most unfriendly scrutinizer 
of her life and character, leave the brightness 
undimmed, and the magnitude undiminished, of 
her moral excellences. 

As time runs on, and lengthening separation 
from her favours a more deliberate and impartial 
estimate of what she was, she more and more 
appears to me to have exhibited, beyond any 
other person I have known, some of the highest 
and rarest attributes of the Christian character. 
In no other have I seen Christian beneficence so 



97 Bright Example. 

accordant with the Scripture delineations of it. 
Of no other am I so often reminded in perusing 
these delineations, and the inspired exhortations 
to its practice. When I read in the Old Testament 
such passages as the following — u Blessed is he 
that considereth the poor: " — or, " A good man 
sheweth favour, and lendeth. He is gracious, 
and full of compassion and righteous. He hath 
dispersed, he hath given to the poor, his righteous- 
ness endureth for ever" — or, "Is not this the 
fast that I have chosen ? to deal thy bread to 
the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that 
are cast out to thy house ? when thou seest the 
naked, that thou cover him ; and that thou hide 
not thyself from thine own flesh ?" — her 
character rises to my view — not as bearing some 
resemblance to that described — but as its literal 
and full counterpart. And in the examples set 
forth of female diligence, courage, fortitude, 
hospitality, under the influence of faith, she 
recurs to me as one in whom similar conduct 
under corresponding circumstances would have 
been quite natural. So again, when I read in 
the New Testament the commendation of the 
woman at Bethany, "She hath done what she 
could : " — or of Dorcas, "She was full of good 
works and alms deeds which she did :'' — or the 



98 The Obligation of 

description of the Christian widow, u well re- 
ported of for good works •, if she have brought 
up children, if she have lodged strangers, if 
she have washed the saints' feet, if she have 
relieved the afflicted, if she have diligently fol- 
lowed every good work/' — I think of her as 
one to whom each of these testimonies is no less 
literally and fully applicable. 

It is a high privilege to her children to have 
had such a mother. It is a high privilege to their 
children to have had such a grandmother. The 
character and example of progenitors are of 
powerful influence upon their descendants, and 
when eminent for moral excellence entail high 
obligation to follow them, but much dishonour on 
those who depart from them. Oh ! that each 
of her grandchildren may deserve from some 
eminent faithful servant of the Lord, speaking 
with intimate knowledge of their principles and 
character, such a testimony as Paul bears to 
Timothy, when he says, "I call to remembrance 
the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt 
first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother 
Eunice, and I am persuaded that in thee also." 
To her sons and daughters, to her grandchildren 
and great-grandchildren, the words may in con- 
clusion be addressed with utmost affection and 



Her Example. 99 

earnestness, which are employed to the Hebrews, 
after reminding them of im the work and labour 
of love shewn towards God's name" by those 
who had been patterns of cheerful, assiduous, 
persevering, ministration to the saints : — " And 
we desire that every one of you do shew the 
same diligence, to the full assurance of hope 
unto the end ; that ye be not slothful, but fol- 
lowers of them who through faith and patience 
inherit the promises." 



SKETCH 

OF 

MRS. RENTON'S CHARACTER, 

BY THE REV. DR. DAVIDSON, 

At the close of his discourse* Lord^s Day, December 27, 1863. 



In presenting a slight sketch of the character of 
" the handmaid of the Lord," who was so long 
connected with this congregation and devoted to 
its interests, but who has now been separated 
from us to join, I doubt not, the blessed com- 
pany of u the spirits of the just made perfect/' 
— all that I can offer is a faint outline of some 
of the more prominent features of that character. 
Among these I mention, first, the natural 
intensity or force of Mrs. Renton's character. 
This might have been read in her countenance and 
seen in her gait, but it could be fully realised only 
by observing the great activity and perseverance 
with which she followed out any purpose which 
she had deliberately formed, and surmounted 



102 Sketch of her Character 

whatever difficulties lay in her way. In this 
feature, I have sometimes thought that she 
somewhat resembled the Apostle of the Gentiles, 
and that, placed in the same position and circum- 
stances, she would have acted in the same way, 
— whether you think of him before or after 
his conversion. She had, undoubtedly, much 
of the same energy of mind, the same intensity 
of purpose. With this was associated a very 
remarkable degree of moral courage and fear- 
lessness. Hardly anything could daunt her in 
performing, or attempting, what she felt to be 
dutiful. With her light and delicate-looking 
frame she would have faced alone undertakings, 
or obstacles, from which seven strong men 
would have turned aside and fled. I believe 
that she had a strong affection for her relatives 
and friends ; and she often shewed even a 
peculiar measure of respect for the customs and 
conventionalities of society ; but if either or both 
of these had stood in the way of what she 
esteemed duty, she would have broken through 
them without hesitation, or even laughed them 
to scorn, in order to pursue the path which her 
conscience or heart pointed out. This some- 
times gave her conduct a peculiarity, or even 
eccentricity, which others could not appreciate 



By Dr. Davidson. 10 



o 



or approve ; and without doubt she may have 
occasionally erred here ; but the characteristic 
itself was a stamp of true nobility, and without 
it she could not have accomplished one-tenth of 
the good it was given her to do. Another 
remarkable feature of her character, or fact of 
her history, was the power which she was able 
to exercise over others. She had little of what 
is called " the logical faculty ;" but with an 
extensive knowledge of men and things, derived 
from observation and experience, and with an 
intuitive perception of what was " true, honest, 
just, pure, lovely, and of good report," she 
was generally able to lay hold at once of the 
truth on any practically important subject ; she 
felt that truth intensely, and was able to state it 
and plead for it strongly ; and thus she generally 
gained over to her own way of thinking and 
acting those with whom she had intercourse. 
In the history of this congregation many instances 
could easily be mentioned in which her thoughts 
be*came, if I may so speak, the seeds of action in 
others ; and we have good reason for believing 
that this same power was often successfully 
employed by her both in rescuing the fallen and 
preserving the exposed — especially the young 
in whom she always felt a peculiar interest-— 



104 Sketch of her Character 

from the paths of error and vice — " pulling 
them out of the fire/' 

But it is of the religious character of our 
departed mother and friend that I am called 
chiefly to speak — of her graces rather than her 
gifts. And what almost need be said, or can 
be said, more of her religious character than 
that she was truly, what she has often been 
called, u a mother in Israel ?" And she was so 
in every sense in which the expression could 
well be employed. Or what can be said more 
of her graces than that in her whole career, so 
long at least as I have been acquainted with her, 
was to be seen a bright exemplification of " these 
three, faith, hope, charity * — the faith, hope, and 
charity which the gospel teaches and produces. 
Her faith was strong and lively and fruitful. 
It was not a *' faith without works, which is 
dead." She had a clear apprehension of " the 
truth as it is in Jesus/' a strong conviction of 
it, and a fervent love for it. I need mention no 
other evidence of this than that of which the 
most of you were witnesses, namely, her intense 
devotion to the ordinances of the gospel, leading 
her while health and strength permitted to 
give so exemplary and self-denying an attendance 
on them, and prompting also that liberality in 



By Dr. Davidson, 105 

their support for which she was so distinguished. 
And, in her case, these external proofs of devo- 
tion to the truth were, unquestionably, accom- 
panied and sanctified by earnest and unremitting 
prayer in secret for the prosperity and progress 
of the truth. She had great confidence in the 
word and promises of God, and, I have no 
doubt, pleaded them daily, " praying without 
ceasing," both for the spread of the cause and 
truth of God in the world generally, and for 
their success as connected with this congrega- 
tion. We have all need, my friends, to learn 
to pray more abundantly and perseveringly for 
the success of the gospel among ourselves, see- 
ing we have undoubtedly lost one of the Lord's 
remembrancers in this matter, — one who obeyed 
from the heart the Divine charge, " Ye that 
make mention of the Lord, keep not silence, and 
give him no rest, till he establish, and till he 
make Jerusalem a praise in the earth." 

As to hope, our departed friend was, without 
exception, the most illustrious example of it with 
whom I have met. She was naturally of a hope- 
ful disposition, and the faith of the truth engrafted 
on this produced not merely what the Apostle 
calls " good hope through grace," but ' ; the 
full assurance of hope." She never expressed. 
1 



106 Sketch of her Character 

and apparently never felt the slightest doubt of 
her own salvation through Christ, Even through 
all the long and weary years in which she en- 
dured " a great fight of affliction," I do not re- 
collect of her ever expressing, or hinting at, any 
doubt on this point, or indicating that she needed 
to be confirmed or comforted in regard to it. 
Her thoughts and feelings did not seem to run 
in this direction at all, Her great desire then, 
indicating what was her chief feeling of need, 
was for that beautiful and becoming attendant of 
hope, patience — patience under her great and 
almost unintermitting bodily sufferings. O how 
often did she ask me to pray that she might have 
patience I And it may well be believed that one 
of the great ends in view with her lengthened- 
out distress was to teach . her — to work in her 
this gracious attainment, " that patience might 
have its perfect work, that she might be perfect 
and entire, wanting nothing." 

As to her charity (and I use the word both 
in its scriptural and in its more customary ac- 
ceptation) it may well be said, it never failed. 
Of that bastard charity that makes no difference 
between truth and falsehood, she had none. 
Loving Him who is the source of truth, she 
loved all who were of the truth, " for the truth's 



By Dr. Davidson. 107 

sake" which was in them. And she loved and 
honoured, also, all who loved righteousness and 
peace, to whatever sect or party they belonged. 
She had a very catholic spirit. But she hated 
and denounced error and falsehood wherever 
they might be found. " In her eyes a vile per- 
son was contemned, but she honoured them that 
feared the Lord." ' ; She rejoiced not in iniquity, 
but rejoiced in the truth." Yet this did not pre- 
vent her from sympathising with the poor and 
wretched and outcast, however criminal they had 
been. It led her rather to seek out the worst 
of these and minister to them both in spiritual 
and temporal things ; and many, I doubt not, of 
the very worst of criminals have had reason in 
both respects to bless her and call her blessed, 
" She did good, as she had opportunity, to all, 
especially to them who were of the household 
of faith." But it would require a volume, I be- 
lieve, to give a suitable history of her public and 
private charities and activities — her efforts on 
behalf of all classes of the destitute, the miser- 
able, and the oppressed — her devotion to every 
kind of good ; and I simply add that I have 
never known any person intimately to whom, in 
my estimation, the language of the great Judge, 
from the throne of judgment, would more fully 



108 Sketch of her Character 

and pointedly and literally apply: "Come, ye 
blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom pre- 
pared for you from the foundation of the world. 
For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat ; 
I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink ; I was a 
stranger, and ye took me in ; naked, and ye 
clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited me ; I 
was in prison, and ye came unto me. Inasmuch 
as ye have done it unto one of the least of these 
my brethren, ye have done it unto me." 

Of the closing scenes of Mrs. Renton's life, 
or of the certainty of her victory over death, I 
do not deem it necessary to speak. During the 
last few weeks of her life her conflict with pain 
seemed to be incessant, and when this ceased, 
during the last days of her pilgrimage, her con- 
sciousness and power of hearing and of utterance 
were almost wholly taken away, so that it was 
not permitted her to leave behind her any part- 
ing testimony to the power and excellence of the 
Christian faith. The certainty of her victory 
over death is to be learned from the character of 
her life, and from the testimony of Scripture ; 
and comparatively seldom, I should think, could 
the words of the Apostle have been more ap- 
propriately used than by her, or the words of 
the Spirit than in reference to her : "lam now 



By Dr. Davidson. 109 

ready to be offered, and the time of my depart- 
ure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I 
have finished my course, I have kept the faith ; 
henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of 
righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous 
Judge will give me in that day." " Blessed are 
the dead that die in the Lord from henceforth, 
— that they may rest from their labours, and 
their works do follow them." Let it be our 
concern to imitate the example of our departed 
friend, the lesson of whose life may be said to 
be " That ye be not slothful, but followers of 
them who through faith and patience inherit the 
promises." Amen. 



The following Extracts, from the handful that remains of 
her Letters to members of her family, few, and for the most 
part fragmentary, though they be, afford better glimpses of 
such traits of her character as they disclose than the fore- 
going pages supply, just as a broken likeness, in which some 
of the features are distinct, conveys a truer idea of the coun- 
tenance than any description of it. 



EXTRACTS FROM HER LETTERS. 



i. To her son Henry. 

Edinburgh, 20th Feb. 1823. 
My Dear Henry, — I have considered and 
re-considered your letter. I have entered into 
all your feelings, and do feel with you and for 
you with a minuteness and multiplicity of tender 
emotions which can only be felt by a mother, 
whose whole soul is on the alert for your present 
comfort and future usefulness. You still com- 
plain of my severity, but were I to mention the 
different little things I have heard from time to 
time you would not. Can love be severe? 
Think if it is possible. And in proportion as I 
have had that affection exercised towards you, 
which is of the purest nature the human heart is 
susceptible of on this side of heaven, its yearnings 
are anxious and large, nothing else than all that 
is lovely and all that is manly can satisfy me. 
1 Then a philosophical student at Glasgow College. 



1 1 2 Extracts from 

I said I have entered into all your feelings. 
But upon second thoughts I don't think I ever felt 
a shade of despair. I have been a child of hope 
since I was fourteen years of age, and to the 
present day I am still supported by it, not only 
for eternity, but even for the present life ; and 
although she often soars very high in my mind, 
and is often dashed to the ground, yet I have 
always sure consolation that as my day is my 
strength shall be. 

But, Henry, you must bear with me. I am 
coming very near. I have discovered something 
in your letter that tells me there is a source of 
disquiet in your mind to which I am an utter 
stranger. I leave it to your own prudence to 
disclose it or not Far be it from me to have a 
wish to extort any thing from you that would 
give you pain. 

Sabbath was my birth-day and the day that 
my dear, dear Rachel died, or, I should rather 
say, was born into eternity. It is always a 
solemn season to me. I devote that day to her 
memory and to humiliation, to which the Sabbath 
is very congenial. I don't know how it was, but 
you were much obtruded upon my thoughts. 
But I must not say more. 

Mrs, H. has come in to get her son T, lodged 



Her Letters. 1 1 3 



or boarded somewhere. I have advised her 
much to send him to Mr. L. for the first quarter 
at least. Although the charge is higher than 
she can afford, yet the first impression in Edin- 
burgh is of such consequence, particularly to a 
medical student. I have undertaken to go and 
see what is the lowest Mr. L. would take. 

No one joins me in kind love, for no one 
knows I am writing you. When I received your 
last I gave your love to father, Agnes, etc. He 
did not ask a sight of it, and it was as well, as 
he has shewn none of your letters to me. I 
will conclude with committing you unto Him who 
is able to keep you and guide you, although His 
path be sometimes in the sea and His footsteps 
hidden. — Your very affectionate mother, 

Agnes Renton. 

2. To the same at Kelso. 

In a letter dated Humbie House, 27th July 
183 1, speaking of a heavy relative trial, she 
says — 

4C But, alas ! my high hopes are now dashed 
to the ground. Infinite wisdom knows best 
what crosses I require. He can and will sup- 
port me. In His faithfulness I have joy and 



1 1 4 Extracts from 

peace. I fear no evil, for the Lord is my God. 
To feel this is to be weighed down with grati- 
tude and love. Oh, the mighty privilege to be 
permitted to breathe in the atmosphere of recon- 
ciliation, how much more to have access to Him 
at all times ! I often remember you and yours to 
my Father. I have but one request for you, 
and that is, that you may every day see more 
and more of your own nothingness, and more 
and more of His all-sufficiency, who hath sepa- 
rated you to the ministry. 

(i When you eat your New Testament feast 1 
think on me ; and when you pray for those who 
are necessarily detained at home, bear me on 
your heart amongst the number. , 

" Christina is with me and she is very kind. 
All the boys are well and happy. I suppose 
your father will return on Wednesday next." 



3. To the same. 

In a letter dated Edinburgh, March 17, 1832, 
referring to a loss of several thousand pounds 
which her husband had sustained by the fraudu- 
lent conduct of others, she says — 

1 The Communion at Kelso was on the succeeding Lord's 
Day. 



Her Letters. 1 1 5 

" I have made up my mind to look for nothing 
better than losses and crosses, and if we are only 
chastised in the slightest way that God corrects his 
children we have no cause to complain." 



To th 



e same. 



In a letter dated Lasswade, 2nd February 
1836, she says — 

iC The way that you look at C.'s marriage does 
not surprise me, although it is a very different 
view from what I take. You do not appear to 
me to have eyes before and behind, for you only 
look at coming events, and that with a very 
drumly eye, if not an inflamed one, for which 
reason I will not now write you as I otherwise 
would have done, knowing that light is always 
painful to diseased eyes. However, the glass of 
God's Word can be looked into at all times, and 
if you will look through it at what has passed 
in the family for the last six years, you will then 
perhaps be constrained to cry out, ' whereas I 
was blind now I see. 9 

" I would be sorry to think that your days of 
health were so much as on the wane. I can tell 
you for your encouragement, that this time four 
years ago, when my prospects of life were very 



1 1 6 Extracts from 

small, the Lord made me to feel that He was my 
strong tower, and now when He has been 
pleased to give me renewed health He has given 
me the desire to lay it out for His glory." 



5. To her son John Thomson, then in London. 

New Garden, 14th July 1836. 

My very dear John, — I received your little 
letter per cousin Betsy. I am not sorry to hear 
that you have so very little time to yourself, but 
I am sorry that you do not cultivate the little 
that you have to better advantage. I hope you 
find time to read the Word of God so as to 
profit by it, that is to say, to read it as if the 
Holy Spirit dictated every word of it for you, just 
as if there were not another human being but 
yourself on the face of the earth. One thing is 
certain that unless you acquiesce with that com- 
mand, c My son gave me thine heart,' all other 
doings will go for nothing. 

I beseech you to remember that where there 
is"a will there is a way. God is ever ready to 
give strength, time, and opportunity, to all his 
children. I can say that he is a prayer-hearing 
and a prayer-answering God. Tell William 
when you see him that I often pray for you both. 



Her Letters. 1 1 7 

But if God gives my request it will neither be 
for your sakes nor for mine, but for the sake of 
Jesus Christ, who alone is the way, the truth, and 
the life. That we may all meet at last in His 
presence is the constant desire of your loving 
mother, A. Renton. 

6. To the same. 

Writing shortly after, she says — 

" The secret of our happiness is love, first to 
God our Saviour, and then to our neighbour. 
I do not think there is any likelihood of my being 
in London this year. I have much to do and 
short time to do it. You will say fc so has every 
body.' Yes, the young may die, but the old 
must. I wish to be ready and waiting for my 
change." 

7. To her daughter Mrs. Robs en. 

Edinburgh, 27 th January 1849. 

I am glad that the M/s are fixed. I trust 
they will go forward with one object in view, 
and not turn to the right hand or to the left. 
If they are not rich in money they have a large 
measure of what the angels extolled in their 



1 1 8 Extracts f? om 

song — peace and good-will. Perhaps there is 
not a family has a larger share of the pure good- 
will of hearts that are opened by God's love, 
and yet infinite wisdom keeps them as they are. 
What we know not now we shall know in 
heaven. I am glad you told me of the Com- 
munion — my spirit will be with you. 



8. To the same. 

Edinburgh, May 30, 1850. 
Mrs. Grierson's household furniture is sel- 
ling to-day. Your father and I were married 
shortly after her. We feel the admonition. 
Our's would just have to go in the same way. 
But it is cheering to know that we have " a house 
not made with hands eternal in the heavens " 
ready for our reception. 

9. To the same. 

Edinburgh, 16th December 1852. 
Our dear Agnes is no better. She is more 
incoherent, but the fever is no higher. I have 
no hope for recovery but in the living God. He 
alone can heal her. I trust we shall all be pre- 
pared for any issue. I am satisfied that for her 
to live is Christ and to die is gain. 



Her Letters. 1 19 



10. To the same. 

Edinburgh, 17th May 1853. 
My very dear Agnes, — I am quite relieved 
by your letter of to-day announcing that the 
Doctor and you are so kind as to go to N. M. 
Tell your good dear husband and my factor 1 
that I consider it the kindest honour as well as 
the greatest they could confer to accept my little 
bower for their summer quarters. I hope that 
the fine air, the cow, and the fishing will make 
up for all other deficiencies. I cannot tell you 
how pleased I am to-night. Oh that I could 
give the Author of all my mercies the praise that 
is due for His wondrous kindness to me. What 
am I that the Lord has so often given me my 
heart's desire ? If you let me know the day you 
intend to be at New Mills, I will go out and 
meet you at the station. 

11. To the same. 

Edinburgh 30th August 1853. 
It was our Communion on Sabbath, and a 
day of deep gratitude and high exultation to me. 
John came with me of his own accord. He sat 
1 A jocular name of her grandson William. 



1 20 Extracts from 

next me, and handed me the memorials of that 
body and blood by which we were both saved; 
How sweet ! What am I that the Lord has 
dealt so bountifully with me ? I am very thank- 
ful that Agnes, Grant, and Maggie have joined 
themselves to the Lord. But John is the first 1 
that has sat down with me at the Supper. It 
was a feast indeed. It surpassed all that I have 
enjoyed during my pilgrimage. " Bless the Lord, 
O my soul." 



1 2 . To the same. 

" Edinburgh, 29th March 1854. 

I feel very much better, but not getting on 
as I hoped to do. However, I am aware that 
an old woman like me cannot expect to get 
strong. I am sure that I have more reason for 
gratitude than many on this score, and I do de- 
sire to say Cl Amen '' to whatever the will of the 
Lord may be. 

Dr. Brown called yesterday. He told us 
that Sir G. Sinclair invited himself to breakfast 
with him, and that he had brought together a 
dozen of ministers, U. P. and Free, to meet him. 
They had the union of the two bodies discussed, 

1 Of her grandchildren. 



Her Letters. 121 

and were of one mind — Union, Union ! Sir G. S. 
invited them all to his house to breakfast, and 
requested every one of them to bring an elder 
with him, and he would get some more to meet 
them next week. He is likewise to go to Glas- 
gow, and to do all he can to set the union agoing 
there. Dr. B. is in high spirits about it. Good 
old man, I wish he may live to see it realized. 
Henry came to-day, and is in high feather about 
the news of the Bill. He appears ready and 
willing to take the field against th e whole host* 



13. To the same. 

Edinburgh, 13th May 1854* 
I enclose a letter I had from Miss R. I 
went to W. L. on Tuesday, and examined as far 
as I could her scholars. I think she is a com- 
plete teacher of English 1 in all its branches, like- 
wise of writing. She is deficient in arithmetic, 
but she never gave herself out for teaching it. 
The needlework was good, crochet, etc. She 
has been quite too refined for the place. You 
may fancy what she has had to do, when I tell 
you that the children were in the habit of using 
their fingers for their noses. But the most of 
the mothers complained " that it was all freaks." 
K 



122 Extracts from 

Notwithstanding, they gave Miss R. great praise. 
I told Mr. J. that they would be better off that 
came after her, as she had broken up the fallow 
ground. I advised her to issue an advertise- 
ment, and to use my name as a reference for 
Edinburgh and yours for Glasgow. Should 
you be applied to you will get her testimonials. 



14. T0 her son John Thomson^ in London. 

Edinburgh, 25th December 1854. 

My dear John, — We are glad to see by 
your and James's letters that baby is in life, al- 
though from the accounts my hopes are very 
small of his recovery. God is all-sufficient. 
When He says, u Live," we live ; when He says, 
" Die," we die. I have resigned him to his 
Father and our Father, to your God and my 
God. He knows what will be most for the 
child's good and His own glory. The chief 
end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him for 
ever. If he is taken away without encountering 
the storms of this life we ought to be silent : 
" Be still, and know that I am God." I am still, 
for I have no more doubt of his salvation than I 
have of my own. I have fled to Christ with 
all that pertain to me, and I believe I will meet 



Her Letters. 123 

all in glory, unless they reject Christ and will 
not have His salvation, and that our dear baby 
cannot do. I will wait in hope for whatever is 
the will of our God and Saviour. I feel more 
than I can tell for your dear wife. None knows 
but a mother what it is to be a mother. As 
suffering with you all, thine affectionate mother, 

A. R. 



15. To the same, and her daughter-in-law. 

Edinburgh, 27th December 1854. 
My dear Elizabeth and John,— I deeply feel 
with you and for you. I never knew that 
I was a parent until I saw my first William 
dead. From that time I have felt that I had 
part of myself in the grave, and could say to 
the worm, " thou art my sister." What cause of 
deep humiliation, and for our earnest desire to 
have Christ formed in each of our children the 
hope of glory ! I earnestly hope that the Lord 
will spare all the rest of the dear ones to you. 
We require to be quiet under the afflicting hand. 
If we are not He sometimes sends us another 
trial, that we may see that our children are not 
our own, and that He has a right to take them 
all if He pleases. 



124 Extracts from 

Willie is as merry as a lark. It does make 
me sorry, and yet I am glad to see him in health 
and spirits. He is very much attached to Henry 
and Agnes Robson, and I think they will be of 
use to him. He is likewise quite at home at 
Newington House, but prefers Tilla to Charles. 
Poor young dears ! It is well they cannot 
enter into our cares, for if they did they would 
not grow in mind nor body. All God's ways 
are perfect. 

I am sorry to tell you that 's husband 

died yesterday morning. I have not heard the 
particulars — indeed I never heard that he was 
ill. Poor woman, she is left with eight children ! 
When we look round we see others more tried 
than we are. I think our dear James will not 
be down, now that he has been detained. Give 
him my love, and receive the same for yourselves 
and all the dear loved ones. As present in 
spirit, your affectionate mother, A. R. 



1 6. To her granddaughter at Birkenhead. 

Edinburgh, 6th December 1855. 
My dear Agnes, — My patience is more than 
exhausted. I would have believed that my 
letter had not reached you, but your uncle Wil- 



Her Letters. 125 

Ham told me you had got it, and had not time 
to write that Saturday, but that you would see 
Mrs. C. and write the next. This you have not 
done. I am very sorry, particularly on Maggie's 
account. It was no favour that I asked. It 
was a duty to your relations. I cannot under- 
stand if she asked Miss L. to send some one 
with you and her, or to let you go yourselves, 
how she could refuse, and if she did she ought 
to have written me to that effect. I am so sorry 
to see so little heart about you as not to find 
time to visit a dying relative. What are the 
practical results that your dear father's illness 
and begun recovery have had upon you, if you 
would not take the trouble to reach a cup of 
cold water to one in similar affliction, with the 
bitter ingredient of poverty added thereto ? I 
cannot see any answer that either of you can 
give to this question. 

Mrs. Robson has been paying me a visit. I 
am glad to say that our Glasgow friends are 
well. I have seen two letters from John. He 
is very well pleased that he has gone abroad ; 
he is doing a great amount of work, and he has 
time to write long letters. Where there is a 
will there is always a way. 

I had a letter some time since from your uncle 



126 Extracts ft om 

James, asking my permission for your going to 
London during the holidays. I hope that where- 
ever you go you will be enabled to remember 
that God's eyes are on the just, and His ear is 
ever open to their cry. That both of you may 
seek God and serve Him with your whole heart 
is the earnest prayer of your affectionate grand- 
mother, A. R. 



17. To her daughter, Mrs. Robson. 

Edinburgh, 14th December 1855. 

After a pressing invitation to her grandchild- 
ren to spend the Christmas season with her, she 
says — 

" I have made up my mind neither to go out, 
nor to ask in visitors, during the holidays. I 
prefer to be alone, except with my dear relations, 
who are always welcome." 

After referring to some pecuniary arrange- 
ment, she adds — 

u What is money ? Nothing, but in as far as 
we are good stewards. I never look forward, 
and I can hardly look back on my stewardship. 
I just do daily work as I get daily bread, and I 
am helped 5 hence my heart doth joy exceed- 
ingly." 



Her Letters. 127 



18. To the same, 

Edinburgh, January 30, 1856. 
As I did not get to see you last week, I 
will not think of leaving home for some time. 
February has been the most important of all 
the months of the year to me. Its curtain ap- 
pears to be drawing closer around me in many 
respects than it has ever done — not of sorrow, 
but of solemnity. I feel quite pleased to be 
alone. But if you could make it convenient to 
come for a day or two, either on the 9th or 
1 6th, you could do me a good service by read- 
ing letters, etc. 



19. To the same. 

Edinburgh, 7th March 1856. 

I have been so much taken up since I re- 
turned that I have only written one letter — an 
answer to one I had from Miss Griffith. I had 
a delightful quiet season of self-examination on 
my journeying home. I had the compartment 
to myself all the way. 

Mrs. B. and her children were before me. 
I was taken up making calls with her on Wed- 
nesday — and, what do you think, I met Mrs. 



128 Extracts from 

M'Crie, one of the ladies who first formed the 
Anti-Slavery Society ! I told her that our meet- 
ing was to be next day. She called and went 
with me. It was a full meeting, and the dif- 
ferent views were spoken to on both sides. 
Mrs. M'L. was there and made a very pretty 
speech. But when the votes were taken there 
were only Mrs. P., Miss S., and myself in the 
minority; so we all rose and left the room. 
Mrs. M'C. and her sister left with us, five in 
all. I am thankful I was enabled to withstand 
so much fine speaking. But it was all to gloss 

over the party. I am glad that Miss 

G. was not in Edinburgh, for they seem to 
think that she was at the bottom of all this, 
which she is not. I love the committee that I 
have left, but I mourn over their blindness, in 
crying " Peace, Peace," when there can be no 
peace with the enemies of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
They argued that we ought to iC forgive until 
seventy times seven." I said that referred to 
personal injuries, but that our Lord pronounced 
those who opposed and perverted the truth *' a 
generation of vipers that could not escape," etc., 

and that neither could the party unless 

they repent. I hope my dear Dr. R. will keep 
his post at the meeting of his committee on Mon- 



Her Letters. 129 

day night. As an under-shepherd he must have 
his rod in his hand, to ward off the sheep from 
unsafe ground, as well as to keep them on the 
green pastures." 



20. To the same. 

6th February 1857. 

Referring to some circumstances connected 
with her husband's death, she says — 

" The ninth is the day never to be thought 
of but with painful regret. I must be dumb on 
a subject that there is so little light and so much 
darkness connected with. The only consolation 
we have is that he was ready for his change. 
The lesson to me is, ' Be ye also ready, for in 
such an hour as ye think not the Son of Man 
cometh.' " 



2 1 . To her son Henry, on arriving at Liverpool after 
a long absence. 

Edinburgh, 13th June 1856. 

After a variety of details evincing her activity 
and interest in all arrangements, she adds — 

H I wrote M. this day from Kelso. I have 
returned because there was nothing for me to do 



1 30 Extracts from 

until the general cleaning was over. I intend 
returning on Monday to put all to rights for you. 
" I had a very sweet visit to London, and 
saw all my old friends as well as my new ones. 
Every one was kinder to me than 
another. Oh ! what cause I had to be thankful 
for the health I enjoyed ; everything went on to 
a wish, and I left them all in health. It is for 
me to bless the Lord." 



22. To the same. 

Edinburgh, 28th October 1856. 
I am sorry that you are to delay leaving till 
the second week in November. As to my ex- 
penses, had I gone with you I intended to bear 
the half, that is, dividing Maggie's betwixt us. 
But from what I learn you have decided 
to go by sea. That settles my mind not to go. 
You don't require me, and it is only giving up a 
luxury I can do without. I will be as happy at 
home as I could be abroad. Our enjoyments 
are not limited to place nor friends. But I beg 
of you to consider that you may be exposed to 
storms at sea, and should they produce sea-sick- 
ness I would fear for the recurrence of the com- 
plaint you are seeking to cure. I intended to 



Her Letters. i;i 



o J 



come out on Saturday first, but if you do not 
go away for another week I will not come till 
the next. With love all alive for your direc- 
tion, comfort, and blessing in all your movements. 
Your affectionate mother, A. R. 



23. To the same. 

Edinburgh, 21st August, 1857. 
I write to say that your old friend Mr. G. G. 
Cunningham intends, if he is not obliged to leave 
this to-morrow, to go to Kelso at 4 o'clock and 
spend Sabbath with you. I told him that he 
must preach for you. I am glad to say that he 
has never given up preaching the Gospel. I was 
much delighted with him last night. I had my 

bonnet on going out to see Peggie B< , a 

poor woman that is thought dying. She sent 
for me. Mr. C. offered to go with me, which 
he did. It looked like an angel's visit to her. 
He so sweetly and so clearly presented Christ 
our Saviour, whom she extolled as her Lord, 
" that had redeemed her, and kept her all along, 
and would not let her go now." 



1 3 2 Extracts from 



24. To the same. 

Edinburgh, nth December 1857. 

Referring to two venerable Christians in Phila- 
delphia, she says — 

" I would like to see Dr. Coleman's father 
and mother, but that cannot be. If they be of 
the sheep who know the good shepherd and are 
known of him, we shall meet to go no more out, 
with the number that no man can number, out 
of every nation and kindred, and people and 
tongue, to be ever with the Lord." 

25. To her daughter y Mrs. Robson. 

A letter of 31st December 1857 concludes — 
"Farewell to 1857. That the Lord may 
give us all grace to love and work, and to work 
and love, better than ever we have done, is the 
prayer of your affectionate mother." 

26. To her son at Kelso. 

15th July 1858. 
Referring to the dangerous illness of a pious 
man brought on by mistaken and excessive fast- 
ing, she says — 



Her Letters, 133 

€t He had told me he was keeping fasts. But 
I told him he was entirely wrong, for this was a 
time to rejoice. God was pouring out his Spirit, 
and although it was not on all flesh it was on 
part, therefore all the Lord's redeemed ought to 
bless and praise His holy name. I pray the 
Lord to direct and bless the means for his re- 
covery. Yet I fear he will die, and cannot 
help mourning both for himself and friends, and 
for the handle to the ungodly who called him 
religious over much." 



25. To the same. 1 

Edinburgh, 14th March i860. 

My very dear Henry, — I write to tell you 
that your dear brother William returned safe 
from Lyons this forenoon. His neck is almost 
quite well. He had a pleasant visit to London 
on his way back. Duncan dined with him on 
Saturday. He spent Sabbath with James Hall. 
John dined with him on Monday and Tuesday, 
and he has such sweet tidings of them all : 
Elizabeth is working with Mrs. Bailie, John is 

1 The last received written by herself. To many later, 
written to her dictation, her signature only was attached — to 
some even it was wanting. 



134 Extracts from 

taking an active part in the good cause, Duncan 
is going forward in vigorous style. Bless the 
Lord, O my souL I cannot tell what I feel of 
gratitude that the Lord hath done such great 
things for me and mine. I have had * much to 
thank and praise God for of late. Indeed, except 

the sorrow and detestation I have felt at ■ 's 

becoming a lawyer, I may say my life of late 
has been a life of praise. My friends that have 
died, absent from the body, are all gone to be 
present with the Lord. I do not feel at liberty 

to speak about our dear for I am not sure 

if he is consolidated yet, but a short time will 
make it plain. 

Frederick Douglas is to be in Glasgow on the 
20th. He has been invited to Dalkeith. If you 
wish him, his address is at Dr. Croft's, Halifax. 
If you write him say that I hope he will rest a 
few days with me. I have much to speak to 
him about. He wrote to see if we could get a 
passport for him to go to Paris. The American 
consul will not acknowledge him as a citizen. 
The Bazaar at Halifax last week has been a 
success. It drew £300. So they will send 
nothing to America this year for the Anti-Slavery 
cause but money. W. has just come in, and 
says his brothers in London will get a foreign 



Her Letters. 135 

passport for Mr. Douglas. Will you write him 
so ? Love to the cousins and your own dear 
self. — In affection, 

Agnes Renton. 



26. To the same} 

28th October i860. 
My beloved Henry, — I have been deeply af- 
fected with the news from Kelso. I have never 

1 To understand this letter some explanation is required, 
and though involving intrusion of what is personal, may 
perhaps be excused. At a full meeting of Elders and 
Deacons sentiments had been expressed by ^ome, and a 
conclusion had been adopted by a majority, which greatly 
astonished and distressed me, indicating on the part of 
those who should uphold order, and should " look that 
we lose not the things which we have wrought," a dis- 
position to succumb to a little noisy and niggardly faction 
that had arisen, and to secede from a step of propriety and 
progress, in which I had no part, but which had, at a 
meeting of the Congregation, been regularly and consti- 
tutionally adopted by a large majority. And I felt that 
if, before an unworthy and discreditable opposition, order, 
honour, and progress were to be surrendered by those 
who should be their guardians and promoters, and this 
notwithstanding of my remonstrance, my teaching and 
ruling influence as a minister were subverted, and I should 
no longer wish or consent to retain the office where it 
was so. Disclosing my mind to no one but my younger 



136 Extracts from 

been satisfied with the congregation. From the 
first I thought there was something awanting, 
but I never could have believed there would 
have been a majority of the Session differing from 
you in sentiment, either about things spiritual or 
temporal. I give you my advice, as your experi- 
enced old mother, to look neither to the right 
nor to the left, but to go up to your watch-tower 
and join us who are praying earnestly for divine 
direction to you. I have no set petition, no spe- 
cial request to make to God, but for direction. 
May you be enabled to put your entire case into 
His hand, and let Him decide what will be most 
for His glory and their good. 

You have been comparatively too faithful a 
minister to them, and they have not appreciated 
your labours. Maggie and I commence this 
night our prayers on your account, and trust 
you will be enabled to look steadfastly to " the 
Rock that is higher than you." My entire con- 
daughter, then alone with me, she wrote her sister, then 
with her grandmamma. The above letter came to me 
by return of post, bringing with it no small refreshment 
and encouragement, although my own mind had become 
clear and decided as to the course to be followed, and on 
the Wednesday, when the crisis arrived, all mischief was 
defeated, and danger and faction vanished. 



Her Letters. 137 



fidence is in Jesus Christ our God and Saviour. 
He will shew us that we have not trusted in 
Him in vain. I have no feeling against the 
people^ but only pity them. My heart's desire 
and prayer to God is that the Holy Spirit may 
be poured out on them all. I write to-night to 
our tried friend Mrs. Macnab, to join us in spe- 
cial prayer all next week. She may mention it 
to Mrs. and Dr. Robson. But I wish no others 
to know of it besides your brother William. 
We shall hear from Dr. Somerville what they do 
on Wednesday. Perhaps we have all along 
asked too little for your congregation, and we 
must make our requests large for you and for 
them, looking above their petty worldiiness to 
the great consolation which comes from the 
Father of lights to all his spiritual children. I 
have already an assurance that I will be answered 
on your behalf, and that you will rejoice more in 
the Lord than you have ever done. I will leave 
the matter with Him who is all-sufficient \ and 
that all-sufficiency before your mind will enable 
you to say " not my will but Thine be done." 

When Mr. D. was much harassed and tried 
by some members of his session, two rich 
members told me they were going away, and 
I said "go, and let every one that is of your 

L 



138 Extracts from her Letters. 

spirit go, and if ten righteous remain who are 
true to the cause, we will prosper and be better 
without you." The two troublesome elders 
were expelled, and lately all has been going on 
well, with peace, comfort, and an increasing 
blessing. Tell my dear Aggie to keep up 
her spirits, that greater is He that is with us 
than all that can be against us. 

I am, with all affection, your loving mother, 

A. R. 



Posthttmoiis Letters, 



The two following Letters were found among her confi- 
dential papers, enclosed under one envelope, addressed as 
follows :— 

To the Sons and Daughters of Agnes Renton. 

Not to be opened till after her death, 

4th April 1855. 



POSTHUMOUS LETTERS. 



To the Children of Agnes Rent on. 

Parlour, Feb. 19, 1829, 
Edinburgh, 15 Buccleugh Place. 

My dear Children, — Seek the Lord for your 
portion. Your mother has had but one request 
to God for all of you since you came into exis- 
tence, during her life, and at her death ; and 
that is, that every one of you might be born 
again, and your life hid with Christ in God. 

Pray always and never faint. Let no sun 
rise or set without entering, at least twice a day, 
into your closet and pouring out your heart to 
God. 

Think much upon the requests which you 
have made to Him, remembering that His eye is 
on the just and His ear open to their cry. 

In all your transactions with the children of 
God, or with the children of the world, let the 



142 Posthumous Letters. 

rule of Christ be your rule, — " As ye would 
that men should do to you, do ye even so to 
them." 

Never think of marrying any person, what- 
ever qualities they may be possessed of, unless 
you believe them to be Christians in deed and in 
truth. How could you spend your precious 
time with a person whom you had no hopes of 
spending Eternity with ? 

Keep the scales of your conscience clean. 
Weigh well every action, always giving the cast 
to what you think will be most for the glory of 
God, without regarding the displeasure of your 
relations or the approbation of your friends, re- 
membering the first commandment of the Lord 
thy God, " Thou shalt have no other gods be- 
fore me." 

" I have no money to leave you. 1 . . But 
should any money or property ever be left me, 1 
bequeath it to you, my daughters and sons, in 
equal portions, after deducting from the whole 
value one-tenth, to be given to the Lord, either 
for the spread of His gospel, or to His poor, as 
you may agree upon. 

I request that if any of you should meet with 

1 Here are some details about debts, with a subsequent 
marking that they are all discharged. 



Posthumous Letters. 145 

any of my writings or papers, that may have 
been omitted by me to be destroyed, you will 
keep them out of public view, as I am conscious 
that nothing I have ever written should come to 
the public. 

If you, my children, have any wish to praise 
your mother, as is too much the case with be- 
reaved relatives, never do it in words. If you 
would have wished me to have lived longer with 
you, let all that you approved of in my charac- 
ter live in you in a seven-fold degree. By so do- 
ing, death will be great gain to all concerned. 
My soul is freed from sin and clothed with the 
garments of praise. My body will rest with the 
dead that died in the Lord. Ail of me that can 
be of any use either to the church of Christ or 
to the world will live in you [may it be] in a 
seventy-fold degree. Only my sin is dead, and 
the ashes of all my imperfections. 

O, my dear, dear children, see that you have 
entered in by the door into the sheep fold. 
Keep close by the pastures of revelation. Rest 
not by any stream until vou have got full assur- 
ance. Your mother never had joy and peace 
until she obtained it. God maketh the offer. 
What hindereth you from accepting ail the privi- 
leges of his children i 



144 Posthumous Letters, 

Fight the good fight of faith, Walk in love. 
Seek peace and ensue it. And may the God of 
all grace support you by His Holy Spirit through- 
out all your journeyings, and at last receive 
every one of your several spirits to join the re- 
deemed in the upper sanctuary, who are casting 
their crowns at the feet of Jesus, and vying with 
each other in hallelujahs to Him that loved us 
and w r ashed us from our sins in his own Blood, 
to whom be glory, and honour, and eternal 
praise for ever and ever. Amen and Amen. 

Peter, Henry, Agnes, Isabella, Christina, 
William, John, Thomas, Alexander, James — 
Disappoint not the Spirit and the Bride that in- 
vite you to come — disappoint not the first wish 
and the last wish of 

Your affectionate Mother, 

Agnes Renton. 



Edinburgh, 4th April 1855. 

My dear Children, — It is now twenty-six 
years since I wrote you in the view of my death. 
The letter I then wrote I leave with my testi- 
mony, as a believer in Christ my Saviour, that 
in keeping his commandments there is a great 
reward. The throne of grace has been my 



Posthtimous Letters. 145 

greatest privilege, the Advocate within the veil 
my joy and wonder. To be permitted to breathe 
in the atmosphere of a reconciled God, lisping 
out Abba Father, has absorbed every idea of 
my mind in love, sweetened every trial, made 
every burden light, and drawn my heart and my 
flesh out to pant after the living God, ever con- 
straining me to devote the thoughts of my heart, 
the words of my mouth, and the every action 
of my life to Him that loved me and washed 
me from my sins in His blood, and who, by 
the time you have received this, will have ad- 
mitted me into the kingdom of glory to be for 
ever with the Lord. Fare-ye-well. The first 
wish of my heart for you all is also the last wish 
of your departed mother, 

Agnes Renton. 

Having for many years lamented the mistaken 
custom of putting on mournings as an external 
badge of sorrow of heart ; and believing as I do 
that a majority of those who put on the deepest 
mourning have the lightest hearts ; likewise that 
many in the middle and poorer classes suffer 
from this fashion much privation, and their child- 
ren often starvation, before they get the debts 
paid which they had to incur for family mourn- 



146 Posthumous Letters, 

ings : — I therefore request that none of my family 
will put on any mournings at my death, and 
likewise that they will give the reason, that it 
may be known, with the notification of my death 
in the newspapers. 1 — A. R. 

1 This request, dictated by motives worthy of her inde- 
pendent, disinterested, and benevolent mind, and weighty as 
received among her written and dying instructions > her family 
were precluded from considering as a practical question, being 
all at the time of her decease in deep mourning for her son 
Alexander, who had died a short while before, and for 
whom, though she was unable to wear them, she had ordered 
a full set of mournings for herself — whether from change or 
forgetfulness of an opinion she often expressed, or from 
some other motive, is not known. 



An Account 

of the 

Life and Death of Rachel Ren ton. 



AN ACCOUNT 

OF THE 



Life and Death of Rachel Renton. 



Rachel was born May 16, 1808. She had 
naturally a strong and vigorous constitution, with 
a cheerful temper, and a remarkable vivacity ; 
and she attracted the notice of her friends and 
of visitors in the family more than any of her 
brothers and sisters. Soon after her first dawn- 
ings of reason began to appear, and even before 
she could speak plainly, she shewed great serious- 
ness when anything connected with religion was 
the subject of conversation. When about two 
years old she was one day rather late of coming 
in to dinner. Her father had asked the bless- 
ing before she entered the dining-room. On 
being seated, she looked round, and seeing the 
family begin to eat, she cried out, " Father, you 
have not said, The Lord — you have not said The 
Lord yet." I thought for a moment what the 



150 Account of 

child could mean, and then recollected that she 
had not been present when the blessing was 
asked. I was pleased with her infantile expres- 
sion, which shewed her observation and reflec- 
tion ; and having explained the matter to her, 
said, " My dear Rachel, I hope you will always 
be a good child and seek God's blessing." 

She was naturally high spirited, and would 
cry bitterly if any of her toys were taken from 
her, or if any of her sisters or brothers differed 
with her. But if her father or I had occasion 
to correct her, she neither cried nor sought to 
escape, but, as it were, consented to her own 
chastisement, though once at least she must have 
suffered a considerable degree of pain. On that 
occasion I whipped her sorely for disobedience. 
She was in the habit of going to a back green to 
amuse herself with a neighbour's children, but 
under restrictions not to leave the green. The 
breaking of this rule was her disobedience, and 
whether that occurred from thoughtlessness or 
from love to her little companions who left the 
green, I could not learn, for she never ventured to 
make any excuse ; but when charged with her 
fault and told of the punishment, submitted with 
a willingness highly exemplary to me her parent. 
She went early to school, and during nine months 



Rachel Ren ton. 151 

that she attended it her progress was very con- 
siderable, which was to be ascribed to her 
diligence, for she took much pleasure in learning 
the little words ; and when she could put them 
together so as to understand them, she never 
tired of application, but would sit down and read 
a little book from beginning to end without 
either being attracted or disturbed by the amuse- 
ments that were going on around her. At 
school she was much praised by her teacher for 
diligence and for veracity, Nothing was ever 
known to draw her aside from the truth. No 
threatening and no gift from her school-com- 
panions could tempt her to deviate from it. If 
any quarrel took place amongst them, or any 
transgression of the rules of the school, of which 
she had been a witness, her master would refer 
to little Rachel for the authentic account of the 
whole matter. Thus, although amongst the 
youngest of a numerous school, she was held in 
the highest estimation by her teacher, and she 
taught by her example the inestimable value of 
truth. 

Before she was five years old she was affected 
with a swelling in the glands of the neck, and 
although for some time it did not prevent her 
attending school, it made gradual inroads on her 



152 Account of 

general health. She had just completed her fifth 
year when she was sent to sea-bathing away 
from all her relations, but she made no complaint 
on that account. When I went to see her I 
inquired how she liked to be alone with the 
servant. She replied, " I like home best, but if 
it will do my neck good, I will stop here." 
We had soon to bring her home, for the sea- 
bathing rather increased the swelling. One day 
after her return she asked me u if big people 
prayed." " Yes, my dear," said I, ^ big people 
go into their closets and pray by themselves, but 
children pray in the hearing of their parents or 
guardians that they may know they do pray, and 
that their prayers are spoken in a solemn and 
correct manner. But what makes you think 
we do not pray?" " For Mary," said she, 
" never prays any." Mary was the servant who 
had the charge of her when at sea-bathing. 
" But are you sure she never went by herself?" 
" I am quite sure, mother, for at night when we 
went to bed she undressed me and then herself, 
and she saw me pray, but I never saw her pray, 
and in the morning the same. She never left 
me, I saw her all the day, she never prayed." 
I was surprised at the information and sorry to 
hear it. I told Marv what Rachel had observed. 



Rachel Renton, 153 

She seemed ashamed, acknowledged it was too 
true, and exclaimed, €i Could anybody have 
thought that such a child could have noticed 
that!"' Here I cannot help noticing Rachel's 
thoughtfulness and modesty, for she did not 
venture to reprove Mary herself, or to judge 
her till she had information, but inquired about 
the sin, and left the reproof to her mother. She 
gave many good advices to her brothers and 
sisters in a simple and striking way, of which I 
will mention an instance. One Sabbath, observ- 
ing them engaged in play, she said, " You are 
breaking the Sabbath. That is a great sin, and 
God marks down all your sins in His book. Oh. 
pray, pray for him to rub them all out." When 
amusing a younger sister one day with some 
shells, the child swallowed one. Little Rachel 
was inconsolable. She wept bitterly. When I 
endeavoured to quiet her, she answered, " If my 
sister dies, it is me that killed her, and I must be 
executed." It was with the greatest difficulty I 
could persuade her of her innocence ; and I 
mention the incident to shew you how far she 
was from any idea of evasion or of excusing 
herself where she knew or thought herself to be 
in the wrong. 

As her health began to decline, she grew tall 

M 



154 Account of 

and improved much in her appearance ; and it was 
truly affecting to look upon her apparently in the 
full bloom of health, but with this tumour in- 
creasing on her neck, which baffled all medical 
skill. Many experiments were made, but all 
without effect. A great quantity of medicine 
was given her, and she always took cheerfully 
whatever the doctors prescribed, and cheerfully 
submitted to the external applications, however 
painful. But when it was proposed to cut off 
the tumour she was greatly alarmed. As soon 
as the doctors had left the room, she said, 
" Mother, I heard them saying that nothing 
could be done excepting to cut it off But I 
would much rather die than have it cut off, for 
I know I could not stand it." 

As her weakness increased, she increased more 
and more in piety and patience. During her 
long confinement I never heard her utter a com- 
plaint. When asked how she was, she always 
answered with a smile, " I am no better." Never 
until the day before her death did I hear her 
say that she was worse. Nothing seemed to 
give her any uneasiness but noise, and she would 
not allow her brothers and sisters to play in the 
same room with her, but was always happy to 
hear them learn their lessons beside her. I had 



Rachel Renton. 155 

occasion one day to correct her eldest brother in 
her presence. He had been refractory, and said 
he did not care for me. Rachel, in a most 
serious manner said to him, "Peter, do you love 
God?" "Yes," he replied. "Then God 
himself says you are a liar. For His word says, 
1 He that loveth not his brother (or mother) 
whom he hath seen, how can he love God 
whom he hath not seen ?" Peter left the room 
without saying a word, and I wondered at the 
solemn and pointed reproof. After she became 
unable to walk, she was for three months con- 
fined to an arm-chair, and during that time she 
complained of languor and weakness throughout 
all her frame, saying often in the sweetest 
manner, t; Oh, I am weaned! oh, I am tired!" 
She was then seldom able to read ; but as she 
had always shewn a great partiality for books, 
her father supplied her with several juvenile 
books, among which was Watt's Hymns, a great 
favourite. When these were read to her, she 
would say, "I like them very well, but just read 
me another chapter of the Bible." As I read 
the greater part of my spare time to her, I always 
selected such books as I thought both instructive 
and entertainingo But she never spoke of getting 
any good or any comfort from any book but the 



156 Account of 

Bible. She was very fond of the Paraphrases, 
and often repeated those on 1 Thess. iv. 13, and 
on Job i. 21. She could converse with great 
comprehension on the fall of man, the way of 
salvation, and on death. But when we adverted 
to her own dissolution she would shut her eyes, 
and a tear would slip down her cheek, which 
was too affecting for a parent to proceed. I 
sometimes thought I would like to know whether 
it was the dread of dissolution, or the thought 
of parting with us, to whom she was so much 
attached, that affected her. But her father pre- 
vented me asking her, saying it was too tender a 
question. 

We often asked her if she thought she would 
get better, but her uniform answer was, <; I do 
not know." One day when her brothers and 
sisters were in the room with her, she looked 
round on them, saying, " If God pleases He can 
make me well again, and the stoutest of you all." 

She often spoke of her brother who died 
when he was two years old, and made many in- 
quiries about him. One of her questions was 
— a If now he would know as much as good 
people did who were old when they died ? " I 
heard her say one day to a younger sister, 
" William is happy, happy in heaven. He has 



Rachel Renton. 157 

a white robe on, and the palm of victory in his 
hand. He is as big now as the biggest man is 
when he dies, and he knows more than the 
wisest man on earth knows." A lady called one 
day to see her, and expressed sorrow to find her 
so distressed, and spoke of how little we could 
trust to health. "Very little, indeed/' said 
Rachel. '* for William and I were the two 
stoutest of the family." 

The tumour on her neck got so large, and 
pressed so much on the windpipe, that it was 
with great difficulty she could lie in bed, and 
many a long night she was not in bed at all, but 
sat in her arm-chair. When her father or I in- 
sisted on sitting by her, or that she would allow 
any other person to sit up with her, she replied 
in the most pleasant manner, " I cannot think of 
any person sitting up with me ; just carry me ro 
your bedside, and the chair will be my bed." 
It was very moving to a parent's feelings to look 
upon that afflicted child sitting so calmly and re- 
signedly by the bedside at midnight, when all 
was quiet, and the whole family besides enjoying 
rest, and only the glimmering of the fire-light in 
the room to cheer her, for we thought the candle 
consumed the air and affected her breathing. 
Surely no education, nor religion, but that of the 



158 Account of 

meek and lowly Jesus could have so supported 
a suffering child in such peculiarly distressing 
circumstances. But the Lord, who is sovereign 
in all his doings, was pleased to afflict her more 
heavily. A general dropsy ensued, which, to- 
gether with the increasing tumour in her neck, 
rendered her condition most afflicting, and for 
four weeks her sufferings were great. At length 
symptoms of mortification appeared, after which 
she survived thirty-nine hours. During that 
period her looks and cries were such as no 
language of mine can describe, for darkness of 
mind seemed to accompany violent pain of body. 
It was about six in the morning of the day pre- 
vious to her death that the inflammation took 
place. The severe pain made her whole frame 
tremble and shake. She cried out for the first 
time, " I am a great deal worse now ; oh, I am 
ill ; I am dying ; send for the doctor to see if he 
can give me any relief; oh, father, do you think I 
will live till the doctor comes ? see how I am 
shaking." When the doctor came, she said, " I 
am very ill, doctor ; can you give me any relief? " 
He replied, "I am indeed very sorry to see you 
so ill ; what do you feel ? " " I am all break- 
ing in pieces. My back is cutting in two. Can 
you give me anything to heal me?" " I will 



Rachel Renton. 159 

go and bring a bottle that I hope will do you 
some good." It was some time before he re- 
turned with the bottle, and gave her two tea- 
spoonfuls, which she took eagerly. She then 
asked, " What part is this to heal?" " Your 
back," he replied. " But I am all breaking in 
pieces-, can you give me nothing more?" u I 
will go," said he, ** and bring another bottle to 
rub you with, that will perhaps give you some 
relief." She added, " Do you think, doctor, I 
can live till night ? When you come back, oh, 
stay with me all day ! ,; Her father prayed with 
her, and she held up her trembling swelled 
hand in token of reverence, and endeavoured to 
be composed. But the dropsy increased to such 
a size over all her body, that it was impossible 
to support her any other way than by a person 
sitting on each side of her, and allowing the 
bones of her elbows to rest upon the hollows of 
their hands. This was the position in which 
she was, sitting on a sofa, with her grandmother 
supporting the one arm and I the other, when 
the doctor returned at three o'clock. She looked 
very earnestly at him, but did not speak. I told 
him that several blue spots had appeared on her 
limbs, and that I was afraid they would burst. 
He said he expected the blue spots, but that the 



160 Account of 

limbs would not burst — and went away. He 
had just gone, when Rachel looked round to 
me, saying, " Oh, mother, help me, oh, help me ! 
Can you not give me any relief ?" I was much 
overcome, and, with a breaking heart, replied, 
" My dear child, I cannot help you ; none but 
the Lord that made you can give you any relief. ,, 
She eagerly replied, " What will I say to Him ? " 
" Just pray to Him to send you relief, or 
strengthen you to bear your trouble." She im- 
mediately lifted up her eyes, crying, " Oh, Lord, 
send me some relief, or strengthen me to bear 
my trouble.' ' She spoke none from that time 
until four o'clock, when her father came into 
the room, and she at once said, <; Father, pray," 
— a request which he immediately complied with, 
praying for several minutes. So soon as he had 
finished, Rachel joyfully exclaimed, " Father, I 
am going to leave you, and I am glad I am 
going to see my Lord in heaven, and I will see 
my little William there. Mother, I am going to 
leave you. Grandmother, farewell. Oh, tell 
all my sisters and brothers to come to me, that 
I may see them and bid them farewell." Her 
father went and brought them into the room. 
But they were all so much affected, and wept so 
much aloud, that I was afraid the scene and 



Rachel Renton. 161 

noise would disturb her, and begged of them to 
be quiet, but without effect. However Rachel 
was no way agitated ; she was calm with a 
heavenly composure, and shook hands with all 
of them, bidding them farewell one by one. 
Her younger brother was so much affected that 
he could not come forward. I observed to her 
that Henry stood at the end of the sofa. She 
immediately held out her swelled hand to him, 
saying, t€ Henry, I am going to leave you. Oh, 
pray God to give you a new heart." Her 
youngest sister, an infant in the servant's arms, 
was last brought to her. She did not bid her 
farewell, but, taking her by the hand, and 
looking around, said, " Father, you must pray 
with me for Christina." Then she added, 
" Perhaps God may spare me to see another 
day with you all ; but it will be as well to 
send for grandfather, for I would like to see 
him, and bid him farewell/' We sent for him. 
She inquired several times if he was come, but 
by the time he arrived, she was much worse, and 
was only able to say, " I am going." He re- 
plied, " Where are you going ? " But she was 
so low and her breathing so laborious, that her 
answer could not be heard. He offered to pray 
with her, to which she signified assent ; and 



1 62. Account of 

while he was engaged, she seemed to restrain 
herself to listen and join in the prayer. A little 
while after this, an intimate friend came into the 
room, who had called in the morning, and had 
witnessed then her solicitations to the doctor for 
relief. When Rachel noticed her, she held out 
her hand, saying, " Mrs. Sinclair, I am going to 
heaven, farewell." Mrs. S. was very much agi- 
tated and overcome. I said in a low voice to 
her, " I am surprised to see you so much af- 
fected, when such a desirable change has taken 
place." She answered, " It is the greatness of 
the change that overcomes me ; to think when 
I saw her in the morning she was urgently 
begging for help and preservation, and now so 
serene and happy to tell she is about to leave us 
and go to heaven : infants perfect His praise." 
A little after this she proposed if her father 
would try to lift her off the sofa, and carry her 
to bed, she would try to lie down. No person 
in the house could carry her but he, for she was 
so heavy and so big with the great swelling. 
When he lifted her up, she put her arms round 
his neck, and her head lay on his shoulder. I 
followed with the light. When on the stair 
to the bed-room, she fastened her eyes on me, 
and with perfect composure said, " Mother, my 



Rachel Renton. 163 

father is carrying me up to lay me on my dead 

bed." I could make no answer, but gazed on 

the benignity of her countenance. When laid 

down, she fell upon a soft slumber. As I was 

not very well and much fatigued, I lay down on 

another bed in the same room, and her father 

and grandmother sat by her bedside. A little 

past twelve o'clock I heard her say, " Where is 

my mother ? " Grandmother replied, " She has 

lain down a little, for she is not very well." I 

hastily rose up, and took her by the hand. She 

said, " Mother, I am sorry for disturbing you, 

but the angels are come, and I thought I would 

like you to see them." Pointing with her finger 

to the corner of the room, she earnestly said, 

" Do you see that angel over there ! Look how 

he is shining. I will surely be going away soon 

now. Oh, father, pray !" He did so for a few 

minutes. She then exultingly exclaimed, " Oh, 

I am happy ! oh, I am glad ! feel, my pulse is 

stopped." Her lip quivered, and she took what 

is called a patient of death. When she came 

out of it, she put her hand upon her breast, 

saying, " Sorrow is returned, and the angels are 

away. I will not be going yet. You had 

better go to your bed again." She continued 

very distressed and restless, but enjoying perfect 



164 Account of 

peace of mind. At one time she cried out, " Oh, 
Lord, send an angel from the New Jerusalem to 
take me to Thyself, or strengthen me to bear 
my trouble." When the morning began to 
dawn, she inquired u if that was daylight." On 
being told it was, she lifted up her pale hands 
and eyes, and prayed, saying, " I thank thee, oh, 
Lord, for keeping me through this night. Oh, 
strengthen me to wait Thy time. Oh, Lord, bless 
my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, 
and all the rest of my other friends. Amen." 
Then turning her eyes to me she said, " Mother, 
you will see me lying to-morrow morning a dead 
corpse." My thoughts were so absorbed in 
amazement at my own child, or rather at the 
power of divine grace in her, that I was unable 
to make any reply ; her father was equally un- 
able, and, indeed, during the preceding night, he 
had been able to speak very little. Some time 
after this, she fell into a slumbering state. When 
she awoke, she seemed to have a severe struggle, 
and her lip frequently quivered, but she made no 
complaint. At one o'clock, afternoon, she said, 
" Mother, do you not see the angels ? they are 
here." I did not like to say I did not see them, 
and asked, " Are they here?" "They are 
there," she replied, pointing with her finger to 



Rachel Ren ton. 165 

the wall in front of her bed. " See, 1 ' said she, 
" the light shining. Is my father in the house ?" 
I told her he had just gone out. " Then send 
for him to the shop, for I think I will soon be go- 
ing away, and I would like him to pray with me 
before I go." She asked repeatedly if he was 
come, and when he came she said, " Father, the 
angels are come back, and you must pray with 
me before I go away. Tell all my brothers and 
sisters to come up that I may see them, and bid 
them farewell again." During the time he 
prayed, I held her by the hand. She smiled as 
I looked upon her, and her face gleamed with 
delight. When the prayer was ended she bade 
us individually farewell again, and seemed im- 
patient to be gone. She then lifted up her eyes 
and prayed, saying, " Oh, Lord, take me to Thy- 
self, or tell me when Thou wilt send for me." 
We were all silent for some minutes. She 
seemed to have received a direct answer to her 
prayer, for she looked round, saying, " I am 
not going yet ; father, you may go to the shop 
again, I will be here when you come back." 
He only went to the other end of the room, for 
he could not leave a scene where his astonish- 
ment and feelings were equally engaged. In 
the course of the afternoon, she spoke very 



166 Account of 

little, sometimes saying, " The angels are here 
yet." During the evening, while her father and 
I were sitting by her bedside, she often repeated, 
H Mother, mother." When I inquired if she 
would take anything, or if I could do her any 
service, she held out her hands, and clasped me 
round the neck, holding me to her bosom for 
some time, but said nothing. This she did often 
both to her father and me. A little before nine 
o'clock, she became very restless ; her father 
lifted her up, and laid her in a different position. 
Grandmother was sitting close by her bedside, 
and her father and I were sitting by the fire at 
a little distance, when she cried in a clear, full 
voice, u Father!" He instantly stepped over, 
and was taking her in his arms, when instead of 
putting her's round his neck, as she had done, 
she put them past him, saying, ' ; It is that 
Father! " and in a few moments expired : her head 
fell lifeless on his shoulder, and when laid on 
the bed, she sobbed heavily for some minutes : 
it seemed as if the spirit was gone, but the ani- 
mal functions could not so quickly cease. 

Thus terminated a life of six years and nearly 
nine months, which had exhibited to us a picture 
of true Christian rectitude, and faith, and pa- 
tience, and, above all, an astonishing manifesta- 



Rachel Benton. r 67 

tjon of the grace and support of the Lord Jesus 
Christ, the only Saviour of sinners, in her clos- 
ing sufferings and death, which took place a few 
minutes past nine o'clock on Thursday evening, 
February 16, 181 5, 



APPENDIX. 



A small volume was printed for private circulation, con- 
taining " Two Sermons pieached to the United Presbyterian 
Congregation, Broughton Place, Edinburgh, on February 
18, 1855, on occasion of the death of William Renton, Esq., 
their senior ruling Elder." The first was by the Rev. Peter 
Davidson, entitled, "The Contrast: or, Man Viewed by 
Sense and by Faith," from the text, Psalm cxliv. 3, 4 — 
"Lord, what is man that thou takest knowledge of him? 
or the son of man that thou makest account of him ? Man 
is like to vanity : his days are as a shadow that passeth 
away." The second was by John Brown, D.D., their senior 
minister, entitled " Assurance of Salvation, and How to 
Obtain it," from the text, 2 Timothy, i. 12 — " I know whom 
I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep 
that which I have committed to him against that day ;" and 
" Dedicated to the Widow, Children, and Granchildren of his 
esteemed and beloved friend, the late William Renton, Esq.. 
with cordial regard and sincere sympathy, by the Author." 
The following Sketch forms the close of the latter. 



SKETCH OF 
WILLIAM RENTON, ESQ., 

BY JOHN BROWN, D.D. 



I need scarcely tell you, my friends, that in 
preparing and delivering this discourse, I have 
had a reference to the removal lately from the 
midst of us of some who gave good proof, both 
in life and death, that they had believed Christ 
and committed themselves to Him, and knowing 
Him, were persuaded that He was able to keep 
that which they had committed to Him ; and spe- 
cially to the sudden, though assuredly we can- 
not call it the untimely, removal of a most 
esteemed and beloved office-bearer of the church, 
who as an Elder has gone in and out before 
you for nearly half a century. I think the 
Presbyterian Church of Scotland has done right 
in looking, in all stages of her history, unap- 
provingly on the preaching of what are called 



1 7 2 Sketch of William Renton, 

funeral sermons as a common practice. There 
are very weighty objections against it. But like 
most general rules this has its exceptions, and I 
should really feel as if I were not acting in ac- 
cordance with the inspired precept, i; Remember 
them which have the rule over you, whose faith 
follow, considering the end of their conversa- 
tion/ ' were I allowing the grave to close over 
William Renton, without endeavouring to ob- 
tain for myself, and assisting you to obtain for 
yourselves, some of the advantages we may de- 
rive from the remembrance of our departed 
father and friend. There was much about him 
well worth remembering. From the shrinking 
sensitiveness of his modest nature, I feel as if I 
were doing something he would scarcely have 
approved of, in speaking of him from this place 
at all. I can almost think I hear his gentle 
voice saying, " Do not speak of me— speak of 
Him whom I believed, and who has kept that 
which I committed to Him;" but I will take 
care, in the few remarks I feel it my duty to 
make, to express myself in carefully measured 
terms, and to ascribe all that was estimable and 
amiable in him to its true cause. 

Mr. Renton was born in this city January 
7, 1774. His father, a respectable manufacturer 



By John Brown, D.D. 173 

of damask, died while he was a child ; and he 
spent his early years under the roof of his pater- 
nal grandfather, a farmer in Lauderdale, an Elder 
of the parish of Channelkirk, esteemed for his 
integrity, good sense, and religion. By this dis- 
pensation, " the Father of the Fatherless" secured 
for him the many advantages of spending the 
first years of life under the healthy influences of 
the country ; and beneath the benignant care of 
his grandfather he passed a blameless and happy 
boyhood. Divine grace seems very early to have 
marked him as one of its objects. When a very 
little boy, tending the cattle in the field, his 
mind was led to reflect deeply on the 23d Psalm, 
which he had committed to memory ; and over- 
come with a sense of the desirableness of the 
state there described, he knelt down and ear- 
nestly besought the Lord that he would be his 
shepherd. What an abundant answer has that 
prayer found — what a still more abundant 
answer will yet be given to it ! 

At twelve years of age, by the advice of his 
relatives in Edinburgh, where his mother and 
two of her children continued to reside, he was 
sent to an apprenticeship in Leith ; where he so 
pleased his master, that, on a relation inquiring 
how the boy was doing, he said, " I was to get 



1 74 Sketch of William Renton, 

a boy, but I have got a man with a boy's body." 
On the close of his apprenticeship, he became 
clerk to a wine merchant in Leith, who died in a 
few months. The management of the whole 
concern devolved on his young assistant, then 
but eighteen years old, and so pleased were the 
heirs of his employer with his conduct, that they 
offered him the business and the stock at a very 
moderate security. He was induced, however, 
to decline the offer, for reasons which will be 
immediately adverted to ; but I cannot but re- 
mark in passing, that the making of such an 
offer strikingly indicated how early he had mani- 
fested that trustworthiness which led in after 
life to his being so often placed in the responsible 
offices of tutor and curator by his friends. He 
accepted the situation of a clerk in another mer- 
cantile house, in which he continued till he began 
business for himself in the year 1801. 

By the Divine blessing on his industry, truth- 
fulness, prudence, integrity, and honour, he ere 
long placed himself in those most enviable of all 
worldly circumstances, in which a man possesses 
enough for every useful and desirable purpose, 
while he is unencumbered with multiplicity of 
affairs or superfluity of wealth. In these cir- 
cumstances, though not without meeting with 



By John Brown, D.D. 175 

serious losses, he continued through life, holding 
a high place in the estimation of the mercantile 
community and his fellow - citizens generally, 
" providing things honest," honourable, " in the 
.sight of all men." He had extended views of 
the duty of a man in social and civil life — and 
without stepping out of his own station, was 
ever ready to help forward the improvement of 
our institutions, whether municipal or national, 
as well as to promote the best interests of all 
with whom by whatever tie he was connected. 
It would not be easy to say to how many, and 
to what extent, he has been useful, by his pru- 
dent advice, his kind cautions, his extensive influ- 
ence, and his pecuniary assistance. 

His mother was a member of the Established 
Church, as his father had been, and on return- 
ing from the country, as a matter of course, he 
attended public worship with her. But his ma- 
ternal uncle, Mr. John Gordon, a member of 
the Baptist church, under the care of Messrs. 
M'Lean, Braidwood, and H. D. Inglis — honoured 
names — " good ministers of Jesus Christ" — took 
his young nephew not unfrequently along with 
him to their meetings, both on the Lord's day 
and on week-day evenings : and he has stated, 
that in his own apprehension he owed under 



1 76 Sketch of William Renton, 

God his first clear spiritual apprehensions and 
deep spiritual impressions to the discourses of 
Mr. M'Lean — " a man mighty in the Scriptures." 
The hymns sung at those meetings took a very 
strong hold of his mind and heart ; and late in 
life he used to repeat and even sing them to his 
grandchildren with great and obvious delight. 1 

1 The following was one of these Hymns which had 
lodged themselves so deep in his memory, because lodged 
so deep in his heart : — 

" Come, ye souls by sin afflicted, 

Bow'd with fruitless sorrow down ; 
By the broken law convicted, 

Through the Cross behold the crown ! 

Look to Jesus ! 
Mercy flows through Him alone. 

" Take His easy yoke and wear it, 
Love will make obedience sweet ; 
Christ will give you strength to bear it, 
While His wisdom guides your feet 

Safe to glory, 
Where His ransom'd captives meet. 

* * Blessed are the eyes that see Him, 

Bless'd the ears that hear His voice, 
Blessed are the souls that trust Him, 
And in Him alone rejoice : 

His commandments 
Then become their happy choice. 



By John Brown, D.D. 17 



/ / 



Towards the close of his apprenticeship, a friend 
asked him to come and hear his minister, the 
Rev. James Hall, who had a few years before 
become the minister of the newly erected Asso- 
ciate congregation of Rose Street. His manner 
of stating and enforcing Christian truth, which 
was that of an eloquent Christian orator, had 
strong charms for his youthful hearer. He re- 
turned Sabbath after Sabbath, and determined to 
remain under his ministry. He was admitted 
into fellowship with this congregation in the 
year 1790, in the 17th year of his age, and very 
soon fixed the fatherly regard of his minister, 

" Sweet as home to pilgrims weary, — 
Light to newly open'd eyes, — 
Flowing springs in deserts dreary : — 
Is the rest the Cross supplies ; 

All who taste it 
Shall to rest immortal rise. 

' ' But to sing the Rest of glory, 

Mortal tongues far short must fall ; 
Tongues celestial strive to reach it, 

But it soars beyond them all : 
Faith believes it, Hope expects it, Love desires it ; 

But it overwhelms them all. " 

It is No. 190 in the United Presbyterian Hymn Book. 
Other special favourites were Nos. 25, 48, 103, 175, 336, 
339, and 439. 



178 Sketch of William Renton, 

which on the part of his young friend was met 
with a peculiar depth of reverential affection — 
the strength and steadiness of which were tried 
and stood the trial. 

It was soon after this that he declined the 
flattering offer made by the heirs of his employer, 
the wine merchant. The principal cause of this 
rose out of the strong religious influence he had 
been brought under. Like many young con- 
verts, he felt a wish to abandon worldly pur- 
suits and devote life to the calling of others to 
participate in the blessings of the Christian salva- 
tion : and while scrupulously attentive to his 
secular duties, he contrived at spare hours to ob- 
tain a considerable knowledge of the Latin lan- 
guage, and other branches of knowledge, as pre- 
paratory to his commencing sacred studies. He 
found, however, reason to believe, that it was the 
will of the Lord that he should u abide in the 
calling wherein he was called," and not without 
some regret abandoned a hope which had been 
very dear to him. It was good that it was in 
his heart ; and God rewarded him, by giving 
him the satisfaction of seeing two of his sons 
successfully occupying important positions in the 
work of the Gospel. 

In the end of the year 1806 he was called 



By John Brown, D.D. 1 79 

by his fellow church members, and in the be- 
ginning of 1807 ordained, to the office of a ruling 
elder. For the long course of forty-seven years 
has he filled that office, during more than twenty- 
five of which I have had the satisfaction of sitting 
in session with him. His piety, prudence, good 
temper, kindly affection for the flock, love of the 
brotherhood, public spirit, and active habits, 
made him a very valuable office-bearer, both in 
the session, and in the oversight of the districts 
of the congregation committed to his care. In 
his attentions to the poor he was peculiarly ex- 
emplary. Throughout life, next to the concerns 
of his business and family, and often before them, 
those of the church over which he was an elder 
engaged his interest. 

This congregation has been deeply indebted 
to him, in the management of their secular as 
well as strictly ecclesiastical business. In 1802 
he was elected our treasurer, and continued for 
forty-one years to perform most honourably the 
duties of that office. On him singly for some 
short time rested the entire pecuniary responsi- 
bilities of the congregation, at that time heavy, 
and to him more than to any other individual do 
we owe the advantage which we feel everv 
Lord's day, of performing our acts of solemn 
public worship in a structure so commodious. 



1 80 Sketch of William Renton, 

While most faithful in the regards due to the 
Christian community with which he was con- 
nected, Mr. Renton cherished the spirit of a 
most enlightened and extended Christian liberality. 
Of all the great works of Christian benevolence 
which give a character to our age — the cause of 
the Bible, missions and education — he was an 
active and liberal supporter. 

As soon as he had the prospects of maintain- 
ing a family, he wisely entered into the marriage 
relation with one " like-minded " with himself. 
By her, God was pleased to give him a large 
portion of what David emphatically calls " God's 
heritage " — children — who have been a source 
of great enjoyment to him in life and in death. 
His happy wife is now his sorrowful widow — but 
though cast down, not destroyed — believing him 
u not lost but gone before." and hoping ere long 
to follow him. In his domestic relations he was 
in a remarkable degree estimable and amiable. 
What he was as a son, a husband, a father, a 
brother, and a friend, they only fuily know who 
stood in these relations to him; but to all who 
had opportunity of witnessing his conduct in the 
circles in which a man's true character is best 
seen, it was evident that few men by nature and 
by grace were better fitted for giving and receiv- 



By John Brown, D.D. 1 8 1 

ing that purest of all kinds of earthly happiness 
which rises out of the exercise of the affections, 
and the performance of the offices of relation- 
ship and friendship. 

To the three ministers under whom he sat, 
he manifested uniformly an affectionate regard. 
He helped them with his prayers, guarded their 
reputation as if it had been his own, often spoke 
with interest of the discourses he heard from 
them, and not unfrequently wrote to his son in 
the ministry of what had peculiarly struck and 
interested him in the Sabbath services. 

These exterior manifestations of character 
had their source in a deep-seated principle of re- 
ligious faith and Christian piety. He held the 
great distinctive principles of evangelical truth, 
with an intelligent and firm belief — and it was 
these which had formed him to the character by 
which he was distinguished. His piery, though 
most unobtrusive, was sincere and deep — mani- 
festing itself in the way in which he received 
and endured u the chastisement of which all the 
children are partakers/' in his deportment in the 
public offices of religion, and in his devotional 
exercises in the family and social circle. 

Possessing a vigorous, though not robust 
constitution, and a cheerful affectionate disposi- 



1 82 Sketch of William Renton, 

tion, advancing years made less impression on 
him than on most men, and we could scarcely 
allow ourselves to believe, that in the ordinary 
course of things, age, if not accident or disease, 
must ere long deprive us of one so esteemed and 
beloved. But for some time past the infirmities 
of the years beyond " the threescore years and 
ten" have been obviously multiplying. These 
were most meekly borne : and the waning ener- 
gies of his nature were all as it were instinctively 
devoted to what had been the business and the 
delight of his more vigorous years. In the 
cause of religion, especially in the denomination, 
and still more specially in the congregation with 
which he was connected, in the cause of general 
benevolence, in the improvement of our own 
political institutions, and in the progress of truth 
and righteousness, libertv, and peace among 
mankind, he took a fervent interest to the last. 

But his chief thoughts were devoted to inward 
intercourse with the unseen and Eternal. Dur- 
ing the last six weeks of his life, one who spent 
the greater part of each day with him testifies, 
that " there passed no day without solemn, spon- 
taneous, and generally very cheerful references 
to death or heaven — to Jesus or the resurrec- 
tion." The last Sabbath he was with us was 



By John Brown y D.D. 183 

our last communion, and I have reason to know- 
it was to him a day of great spiritual enjoyment, 
one of " the days of heaven on the earth ; " and 
on the last Sabbath of his life he spent the hours 
which we were spending in public worship, in 
hearing the Scriptures with Scott's Commentary, 
which was a favourite book with him, read by 
a son who resided with him, and in listening to 
some of his favourite hymns which he wished 
repeated again and again. 1 

He spent his last evening on earth in the 
midst of his family, and, in asking a blessing at 
supper,- poured out earnest supplications in be- 

1 Particularly the 25th and 481I1 in the Hymn Book. 

a Regarding this, his last approach to the footstool 
with his family, the circumstances were these : — At the 
ordinary hour for family worship, nine o'clock, the bell 
had summoned us together, and I had conducted it, 
realizing much our peculiar circumstances with reference 
to the occasion of our meeting and the prospective separa- 
tion on the morrow. After it we separated until .supper, 
when William should join us, which was not till after ten. 
On taking our places around the table, my father, who 
was usually short in asking a blessing, began with un- 
usual solemnity, and proceeded, at a length altogether 
unwonted for him, and with great tenderness, to orfer up 
petitions, as if he had been conducting worship, very ap- 
propriate to our situation, and concluded with one for 
myself, ending with the whole words of the promise to 



184 Sketch of William Renton, 

half of them all, especially of his eldest surviving 
son, who, to restore health impaired by public 
service, was expected to leave next morning for 
a foreign country. He retired to rest apparently 
in his ordinary health. At midnight the intima- 
tion was made, u The Master is come and calleth 
for thee;" and after two hours of suffering, 
from an affection of the heart, at an early hour 
of next morning, amid the prayers and tears of 
his affectionate family — having " served his gene- 
ration by the will of God, he fell on sleep." 
With long life God had satisfied him — and now, 
we doubt not, He has shewed him His salvation. 
He expired just as his son concluded a prayer 
for him, realizing John Howe's ideal of a happy 
death, " dying amidst the kind relatives and 
friends, who were not ill pleased we lived, 
breaths mingling and ascending together in 
prayers and praises to the blessed Lord of 
heaven and earth — the God of our lives. 5 ' Who 
would not covet such a death ? But it is not 
for us to choose, but to " refer ourselves to 
God's holy pleasure, who will dispose of us, 

Jacob, Gen. xxviii. 15. Such an impression and re- 
straint were laid upon all our spirits by this exercise, that 
the supper proceeded in silence, until broken by a cheer- 
ful remark of his own. — H. R. 



By John Brown, D.D. 185 

living and dying, in the best, the wisest, and the 
kindest way." 

We might have wished to have had from 
him a verbal testimony of his unaltered faith in 
Christ, his continued committing of his all to 
Him till that day, and his persuasion that He 
would keep that which he had committed to 
Him. But it was not necessary ; we had the 
testimony of more than sixty years of consistent 
Christian profession. He was indeed " an epistle 
of Christ Jesus seen and read of all men." 

The aged pilgrim had for some time been 
waiting on the banks of " the river, over which 
there is no bridge/' in the daily expectation of a 
summons to pass over to the better country. 
The message came with the token, as Bunyan 
says, of " an arrow sharpened with love to be 
let into the heart" — and scarcely was themes- 
sage delivered, and the token exhibited, than the 
ministering spirit hurried him onwards, so that 
instead of wading through the deep waters and 
conflicting with their billows, he seemed wafted 
over them, and found himself ere he was aware 
on the other side, in " the land of the living" — 
the true " land of Immanuel." 

This succinct narrative is replete with im- 
portant lessons to all, and especially to young 

o 



1 86 Sketch of William Renton, 

men, and I leave it under Gods blessing to do 
its appropriate work. May God supply the 
blank the removal of our friend has made in the 
church — in the world — and in the circle of his 
relations and friends. May He raise up to us in 
succeeding years a succession of such office- 
bearers ; may our country and city be blessed 
with many such citizens ; may his bereaved 
widow, the faithful companion of more than half 
a century, be sustained, and comforted, and en- 
abled to say in her heart, t€ God lives •, blessed 
be my rock." " My Maker is my husband, the 
Lord of Hosts is his name." And may God, 
instead of the father take the children ; may all 
his children, and all his children's children, know 
his God and make him theirs, and serve Him 
with a perfect heart and a willing mind ; and 
may pure religion and undefiled be perpetuated 
among his descendants to the latest generation. 

" Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth, for 
the faithful fail from among the children of 
men." " Lord, make me to know mine end, 
and the measure of my days, what it is, that I 
may know how frail I am." " The days of our 
years are threescore years and ten, and if by 
reason of strength" — a rare exceptional case — 
" they be fourscore years, yet is the addition but 



By John Brown, D.D. 187 

labour and sorrow ; for it is soon cut off, and 
we fly away. So teach us to number our days, 
that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Re- 
turn, O Lord ! how long ? O satisfy us early 
with Thy mercy, that we may rejoice and be glad 
all our days. Let Thy work appear unto Thy 
servants, and Thy glory unto their children. And 
let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us ; 
and establish Thou the work of our hands upon 
us : yea, the work of our hands establish Thou 
it." Our comfort amid all bereavements is, 
" The word of the Lord abideth" — " Jesus is 
the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." 



J. &> J. H. Rutherfurd, Printers, Kelso. 



MINUTE OF SESSION. 



Broughton Place Session House, 
nth February 1855. 

The Session assembled between sermons. The 
Rev. Dr. Thomson, moderator, in the chair. 

Intelligence having been received of the re- 
moval from this world, by death, of William 
Renton, Esq., the father of the Session, they 
engaged in prayer in acknowledgment of the 
Divine hand in this new bereavement. There- 
after they unanimously agreed to record in their 
minutes their deep sense of the loss they had 
sustained in the death of one so honoured, 
trusted, and beloved. At the same time they 
felt constrained to mingle with their sorrow 
thanksgivings to God for his long continuance in 
the ranks of the Eldership ; for the numerous 
and valuable benefits they and the congregation 
have derived from his wise counsels, his peace- 
ful, benignant temper, and ungrudging activity ; 
for the unblemished life by which he advanced 
at once his profession as a Christian, and his 



190 Minute of Session. 

office as an Elder ; and for his public spirit and 
enlightened patriotism by which he long ranked 
among the most honoured citizens of Edinburgh, 
having a " good report of all men, and of the 
truth itself." The earliest records of the con- 
gregation bear testimony to his many efforts and 
generous sacrifices for its advantage, and its 
minutes during all the many intervening years, 
when similar efforts and sacrifices were no 
longer needed, attest that his interest in Brough- 
ton Place Church burned on to the last moment 
of his life. The Session agreed to express their 
sympathy with her, whom this bereavement has 
made a widow, and with those many children 
and grandchildren who are wounded by the 
stroke ; rejoicing at the same time that his les- 
sons and example had so often told them where 
to look for comfort. Mr. Renton has been cut 
down, but the shock of corn was fully ripe, and 
those who knew him best will believe the most 
firmly that Christ has gathered the ripe fruit into 
his heavenly garner. 

The clerk was instructed to make an ex- 
tract of this Minute, and send it by Messrs. Young 
and Dewar, Elders, to Mrs. Renton and family. 

Extracted from minutes of Broughton Place 
Session by 

ALEX. WHITE, Session Clerk. 



ERR A TA 

P. xii., line io, for u To this is subjoined," read To 
these are subjoined. 

P. 6, line 1 6, for " fomer," read former. 

P. 17, line 7 from foot,ybr " old," r#z</ Old. 

P. 19, line 2 from foot, for *" it seemed to her," read it 
seemed to my mother. 

P. 44, line 6> for "generation, her brother, and," read 
generation and her brother, and by. 

P. 135, line 11 from footer "secede," read recede. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: May 2005 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township. PA 16066 



